Unintentional Inveiglement
by onecelestialbeing
Summary: Takes places during the summer after OoTP, the Golden Trio is forced to stay in hiding at Grimmauld Place. Hermione (whom is of age!) begins gravitating towards Snape without knowing why, and he attempts keeping her at arms length, but will be able to remain doing so? AU
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: So here I am, starting a new one. I'm sure this scenario starts off like a slew of other fics, but oh well. If I make you no promises, I can tell you no lies, but Snape will not be fluffy in this fic and all situations may or may not be canon. This was supposed to be a Lolita-esque fic, for those of you that read Lolita I think you know what I'm getting at ;)…although it's changed into something entirely different. Either way, let me know your thoughts. A special thanks to my alpha CRMediaGal for her support with this fic!**_

* * *

Severus Snape stumbled up the short set of steps at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Every bit of his body hurt and he wanted nothing more than to retire to the closest thing he considered a personal sanctuary-his private suite at Hogwarts.

Unfortunately, he'd been forced to play nanny for three young adults that hated him for all intents and purposes.

Sirius Black was dead, and Remus Lupin was the next person closest to Harry Potter.

Potter.

He was the reason that Snape had to endure the inconvenience of an uncomfortable stay at Grimmauld Place instead of Apparating back to Hogwarts like he'd done many other nights. Lupin had been watching over Ron, Hermione, and Harry since the start of summer. It was Snape's misfortune when there was a full moon, as Lupin had to hide from the world and chain himself up in an undisclosed area.

Dumbledore deemed it necessary for Snape to take Lupin's place, despite his dry, polite, and then emphatically bellowed _'no's'_." It hadn't matter to the elderly, white-haired wizard that Snape was utterly knackered, every bone feeling as if it was imploding beneath his skin after returning from particularly trying meetings with the Dark Lord. No one noticed the way he dragged himself up to his room, as they'd all but scurried in the opposite direction upon his unceremonious, banging entrances into the house each time. Even the surly house-elf, Kreacher, managed to stay out of sight whenever Snape showed face, and that was saying something, as the elf's unyieldingly nasty attitude paled in comparison to his.

Snarling and cursing loudly, and refusing to lower his voice despite the ungodly hour, Snape managed to creep into the dark and musty smelling drawing room, where he sought slight comfort near the softly glowing hearth.

Closing his stinging and bloodshot eyes, Snape lowered his head onto the dusty carpeting, mentally willing the fiery sensation that still gripped his bones to leave.

"Professor?"

Snape gritted his teeth when he heard his title being uttered in a soft, yet annoyingly familiar voice. Perhaps if he pretended to be asleep, it would go away.

"Professor Snape?"

Grinding his molars once more, Snape realized that the voice had grown closer. Prying one black eye open, the blurred image of Hermione Granger clad in a juvenile looking stripey jumper bent down and hovering over him materialized, her bushy hair hanging in a messy curtain and appearing as if it was trying to swallow her face.

"Are you all right?"

"Perhaps I'm stating the obvious, but do I look all right, you stupid girl?"

The young witch continued hovering over his form, the insult making her frown slightly. "Well, of course you don't, but there's no need to get shirty."

"Damned chit, you hold all the subtlety of a Hufflepuff. It wouldn't do for me to besmirch those innocent, little ears of yours, but do try and _think_. "

Hermione continued frowning, the cogs turning in her head nearly audible. Snape took that opportunity to close his eyes, fervently wishing that the unfailingly attentive witch would leave him alone. He was sure that he was a sight to see, what with his sweat-dampened hair sticking to his face, and his dust-covered traveling cloak and black suit picking up more dust on the floor.

"Do you need me to help you to your room?"

No answer.

"Sir?"

"_Dammit_, Granger, no! I don't _need _you or anyone else to do anything, except to leave me the hell alone."

"But sir, you can't move and you look as if you're in pain."

"Is your wretched need to state the obvious congenital? Or perhaps you were taught it by your fellow maudlin Gryffindors?"

"You're a right bastard, do you know that?" Hermione finally snapped, her voice wavering with anger. "I'm not daft or blind; I see you skulking into the house night after night, wincing when you think no one is looking, and I'm sorry for not offering my help before, but if you want to behave like a raving lunatic, then by all means, be my guest. I'll make sure Kreacher doesn't try to Hoover you along with the rest of this filthy carpet in the morning."

With that, the irritated witch rose to her full height and flounced out of the drawing room without looking back once.

Snape would have laughed bitterly to himself had every bit of his body ceased to hurt. He couldn't believe that Granger actually left him sprawled out on the floor, giving him cheek before making a grand exit.

An hour passed by, and then another, the stark silence punctuated by the loud ticking of an ancient grandfather clock somewhere in the vicinity.

Snape finally managed to gain control of his trembling limbs and attempted to stand up, discouraged by the thought of the long walk up the winding, rickety staircase that led to his bedroom at the very top of the house. His first condition of remaining at Grimmauld Place was that his sleeping quarters be far away from the likes of the three miscreants, one of his less abrasive nicknames for Ron, Harry and Hermione.

Now Snape realized that the out-of-the-way bedroom was his own self-served punishment. Mustering enough fortitude to sit up, Snape dragged himself across the carpet, collapsing back against the edge of an armchair. He was already exhausted by the strenuous effort, and perspiration dotted across his forehead and upper lip.

Closing his eyes and tilting his head back against the cushions, he suddenly heard the patter of footsteps just outside the drawing room. The slow, cautious gait was much too soft to belong to that of Weasley or Potter.

The footfalls came to a stop once it passed a few inches over the threshold. It was obvious that the intruder was standing still, most likely unsure of what to make of the half-conscious wizard clinging to the antiquated and ugly armchair.

"So you've come back, have you?" he rasped without opening his eyes.

Hermione moved closer to Snape yet continued to give him wide berth as if she was expecting him to draw his wand on her. She had changed out of her homely and misshapen jumper, replacing everything with an even more appalling nightgown and carpet slippers. Hermione stood wide eyes with anxiety, watching as Snape's onyx eyes opened and scornfully roved over her rigid form.

"I couldn't leave you down here," she told him in a tight voice, each word tumbling out as if Snape might jinx her tongue to the roof of her mouth before she would be able to finish her sentence.

"And pray tell, why not?"

"Because it wouldn't be right," Hermione continued, stepping closer when the Professor still hadn't sent her away. Cautiously extending an arm, she waiting to see if Snape would actually accept her succor.

Staring at the offered hand as if it was a dead rodent, Snape finally relented, knowing that his only options were to stay in the drawing room until morning, in which case he would be tactlessly greeted by two other irritating teenagers, or to allow the overbearing witch to help him to his room.

Hermione nearly gasped in shock when the pale and slightly clammy hand made its way into hers, long, cold fingers curling around her wrist. Firmly anchoring her feet into place, Hermione used her redistributed weight to pull Snape up. He roared in pain at the feel of being jostled after lying completely still for a length of time, shooting Hermione a derisive scowl as if she was the cause of his discomfort.

It took another couple of minutes before he was able to pull himself completely up, grumbling the entire time. Snape then looked down at the goggled-eyed Gryffindor that stared back up at him with a visage akin to disbelief.

"For future reference," he began patronizingly, snatching his hand out of Hermione's, "Kreacher doesn't _Hoover_ anything, as you were so keen to incorrectly point out. He's a house-elf; they use magic to clean, assuming one was able to describe this dilapidated hovel as clean."

Hermione remained quiet as the dark-haired wizard ranted on-of course, thanking her was out of the question-his lean, black-robed form towering over hers. Snape's raving ended abruptly as it started, and silently grimacing, he began making his way out of the drawing room.

His breathing was slightly labored as he made his way up the staircase, his knuckles straining as he clutched onto the banister with each step. Snape had to pause when he reached the first landing, and once again took out his frustrations on Hermione, snapping at her to leave him alone and to go back to bed.

Hermione did her best to ignore his blustering, trying to convince herself that it wasn't she who Snape was upset with. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind Hermione knew that she only bore the brunt of his abuse simply because she was nearby at the moment...admittedly that being her choice.

She was still on Snape's heels by the time they made it up the second set of steps. He paused to lean heavily against the wall, his black hair limply hanging and falling into his eyes. Snape didn't bother with pushing the misplaced strands out of his face, as his need was eager to complete the last staircase and finally pay homage to his bed.

"Take your leave, Miss Granger," he curtly told Hermione when they had finally made it to his room. He was already pushing the door open and walking through when she opened her mouth.

"But, sir, are you-"

Hermione was cut off as he abruptly slammed the door in her face, effectively ending the one-sided conversation. She was still a bit stunned as she walked back to the bedroom she usually shared with Ginny.

She was thankful that Mrs. Weasley's overprotective nature had kicked in, as Ginny had to remain at the Burrow with the rest of her family. Only Ron had been allowed to stay at Grimmauld Place with her and Harry, provided that at least one member of the Order was always present.

Kicking off her slippers and crawling into bed, Hermione desperately tried to fall asleep but was unable to. Every time she closed her eyes, the vision of the downtrodden professor appeared. For as long as she could remember, Snape was cruel, his black as China ink eyes glittering coldly whenever he crossed paths with most. Still, his stance had always been upright and unyielding, never once faltering. He made an impressive and highly terrifying figure, and it was no surprise that most chose to avoid him.

But tonight had been another story. Even though Hermione knew she and her best friends were undoubtedly on Snape's bad side, the last thing she could do was to stand by and do nothing while he was unable to move so much as a finger.

Hermione knew that it was nearly suicidal to approach the professor, despite the fact that he'd rudely dismissed mere hours prior to her second visit to the drawing room. She hadn't expected him to accept her assistance, and felt somewhat mollified when he did.

Despite being repaid with nothing but sound belittlement and a slammed door, Hermione believed it to be a small price to pay for a man that was protecting her and her friends, for which he received nothing in return.

* * *

"That damned Sorting Hat gives no leeway, apparently," Snape drawled, speaking of what he deemed to be Hermione's unwarranted noble cause when he found her waiting up for him on his next painful voyage into the drawing room. He was still forced to remain at Grimmauld place, as Lupin still hadn't fully recovered his last bout of transformation. All of which served to further infuriate Snape, causing him to become even nastier towards his three adolescent charges.

Hermione had been curled up with a book, dozing over the opened pages when the dour professor's form spilled into the house, before collapsing in the doorway of the drawing room. Snapping to attention, Hermione jumped up from the sofa, and ignoring the snarled insults sent her way, helped Snape into the room and up into an armchair.

"The Sorting Hat could have always put me in Slytherin, in which case you would still be sitting on your arse out on the cold floor instead of here," she retorted, secretly worried by his labored breathing.

"Do you really think that poorly of us all?" Snape archly inquired, wincing as he shifted his weight to sit upright.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Would you be here of your own free will if you had any other choice?"

"Would you?" he shot back. "I take that back-you would. Forgive me, but I forget that you're the heart and soul of Gryffindor, always on the lookout for someone in need. It doesn't matter if said person can barely stand the sight of you, Hermione Granger will force her help upon them, whether they want it or not."

For someone that took pride in complete self-control, Snape was surprised to find himself unable to bite back derisive remarks that came easily as water gushing from a open tap. Perhaps it was because the young witch was a tangible reminder of the person he'd been forced to watch over, in a most detested place that he was stick in for an undeterminable amount of time, but Snape didn't care if he insulted Hermione or hurt her feelings. The sooner she learned about life and had that perpetually unwavering smile wiped off her face, the better.

Even though Hermione solidly remained standing in front of Snape, the light in her amber eyes seemed to grow dimmer. Still, she set her jaw firmly and went on to ask if he needed anything. Snape continued staring back at her as if she was a specter, and if so, just what her intentions were.

When a solid five minutes had passed without him uttering so much as snarl, Hermione turned to walk out of the drawing room. She had just completed the first set of steps when she heard her name uttered in that smooth yet menacing tone that never failed to capture her attention since day one.

Hermione had a niggling suspicion that Snape purposely waited for her to get halfway up the steps before calling her back down. Even so, she wasn't brazen enough to ignore him, and returned to the drawing room.

"Sir?"

Complete silence. Snape was still sitting in the same position she'd left him, his black eyes unblinkingly focused on hers.

"If you would be so kind," he finally returned, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Hermione was stunned that Snape was outright asking for her assistance, even if he was behaving in a most ungrateful manner. Approaching much like one would approach a coiled and hissing rattlesnake, she timidly stood before Snape, waiting for him to take hold of her hand. The sensation of his icy fingers curving around hers somehow felt less foreign.

Once Snape had painfully gotten to his feet, Hermione followed closely behind him as they make a slow trek up the multiple staircases. For some unknown reason he chose to remain quiet, berating Hermione only once when she accidentally stepped on the hem of his traveling cloak.

When they made it to his bedroom, Snape bypassed all mentions of gratitude and simply shut the door in Hermione's face.

* * *

"I'm tired of being stuck in this house," Ron grumbled that next day over breakfast. "No offense, Harry, but it's bloody boring being cooped up in here."

Harry had been chewing on a piece of bacon when he paused, his green eyes curiously focused on his best friend.

"Ronald!" Hermione snapped. "You know very well that we'd all like to be able to roam freely, but Dumbledore said that we have to stay here. You aren't the only one that's bored; I've already read all of the books I brought with me."

"So read them again," Ron unhelpfully suggested.

"I've already read them four times! Ugh, what I wouldn't give to go to a book shop."

"Hermione, you can always look around the house if you want," Harry told her. "I'm sure Sirius had something in one of these rooms to hold your interest."

Secretly, Hermione had already taken a gander around Grimmauld Place. Many of the books she'd found had grown moldy and needed to be discarded, and some she was apprehensive about touching, purely based on the dark and sinister titles of the tomes. Kreacher, however, was the reason that put her off from any further snooping around. The squalid house-elf made no attempt to curtail his twisted and drooping mouth, hurling insults at Hermione when he found her poring over the dusty, cobweb laden shelves in the Black family library.

Hermione knew that she could have told Harry about the house-elf's behavior, but the unfailingly kind and perhaps foolish part of her couldn't bear to see Kreacher being punished, even if he had disrespected and threatened her. So she said nothing, and relegated herself to rereading the same but thankfully innocuous books that she'd brought with her from home.

Ron wasn't the only one going stir-crazy. Staying at Grimmauld Place wasn't an option, rather an order, that came from Dumbledore. There had been attacks on Muggles since the previous school term had ended, each incident glaringly obvious to those living in the Wizarding world. Hermione's parents had been put under strict watch, although that fact was well-hidden from the Grangers.

Hermione had been sick with worry over her parents, only going by weekly reports that came from various members of the Order who assured that the Grangers were safe and faring well. She knew that Harry was also under stress, although, like her, he managed to keep it hidden. Of course it was obvious to Hermione that Harry was just as distraught as she was, but she tried to hold herself if for no one but his sake.

Lupin had been somewhat of a reprieve to the madness. Mrs. Weasley nagged and mothered the three incessantly, and Mr. Weasley was friendly but kept to himself as usual. Shacklebolt, Tonks, and Moody rarely made an appearance, Mr. Weasley explaining that they were busy at the Ministry.

Lupin was the only one that actually spoke to Ron, Harry, and Hermione as if they were young adults and not three-year-olds. He had been more than happy to tell Harry about his mum and dad, even sharing stories about the mischief the Marauders often got into. Even Ron stopped complaining and piped down long enough to listen to their former professor.

Hermione desperately tried to join in on the light-hearted banter, but the entire time she'd been screaming on the inside. It drove her crazy knowing that she couldn't see her parents, much less do anything else as she was confined to the dusty walls of Grimmauld Place. When the Weasley family came over, she and Ginny made small talk, but it was obvious that the redheaded witch was more interested in spending time with Harry.

She couldn't blame Ginny and it wasn't as if she minded. Hermione would gladly divert Ron's attention away from his other best friend and sister, allowing the couple to have some rarely given alone time. It was a sacrifice that Hermione was willing to make, as although she loved Ron dearly, the way one loved a mischievous but cuddly pet, if she had the gall to admit it out loud, Hermione would have screamed from the rafters that he was annoying her to no end.

Hermione's thoughts hadn't been clear ever since she'd been forced to leave her parents' home. Her sleep had been fitful, and during her waking hours, her mind felt muddled and distracted. Harry hadn't talked much, and Hermione knew it was due to the fact that he felt idle, as if he should be out trying to do only Merlin knew what, instead of being cooped up in Grimmauld Place. At one point he made the comparison of himself to Sirius, stating that he understood how his godfather felt, being sequestered in the very place that he'd been desperate to get away since childhood.

Hermione gently pointed out that it was safer for her, Ron, and Harry to stick together at Grimmauld Place, also mentioning that he wasn't on the lam like Sirius had been. Harry had nodded his head, giving Hermione a faint smile that didn't quite reach up to his green eyes. Thankfully Ron had chimed in, distracting Harry with a conversation about Quidditch, and that seemed to bring the black messy-haired wizard back to his senses.

Though annoying Ron might be, his grousing and silly banter was the only familiar thing that somewhat kept things from getting too thick at Grimmauld Place.

Professor Snape's unwelcome and aberrant presence in the house seemed to bring everyone to heel. Harry and Ron both treated the professor with a forced politeness, although Hermione had to clap her hands over Ron's mouth a few times, just as the words 'greasy git' had been about to escape his mouth. It hadn't mattered that they were no longer back in Hogwarts; Hermione knew that Snape had a twisted streak and most likely wouldn't hesitate to retaliate in his own recondite and sly manner.

Hermione had an inbred sense of savoir-faire, one that had been instilled in her since childhood. Her parents had always taught her to be polite, even to those who didn't hold the same notion. She hadn't expected Snape to sit down and have a chinwag with her and her best friends the way Lupin had, but Hermione thought that he would at least attempt to be cordial.

Apparently, that had been asking for too much. Snape went right on treating them like the same witless children that he dealt with back in Hogwarts, never once breaking out of his saturnine countenance. The only time he opened his mouth was to criticize or berate, and that was if he actually ventured out of his bedroom.

The first night of Snape's arrival, the three held an impromptu meeting in the kitchen, Ron cursing over a mug of cocoa about how it wasn't fair that they had to put up with the professor during the school term, as well as the summer holiday.

Hermione and Harry both snickered at Ron's continued raving, although she attempted to be the voice of reason, pointing out that Snape was only there to protect them.

"Not bloody likely!" Ron had retorted. "He's most likely going to smother us in our sleep or lace our food with poison. In fact, how do I know this cocoa hasn't been poisoned?"

Ron had then snatched up his mug, starting for the sink in aims of pouring its contents down the drain when Hermione reached over and smacked him on the arm, forcing him to sit back down.

"It's not poisoned, you idiot," she laughed. "I just made it, and I promise that it's poison free."

Hermione wanted to add that Snape wouldn't really poison them-all the while trying to ignore that he had in fact made a partial threat on Neville's toad, Trevor, in Potions class-but knew that if she said anything that remotely sounded defensive on Snape's behalf, that Ron would merely launch into another tirade on why he couldn't stand the professor.

"I wonder if Mum and Dad would let us go to Diagon Alley," Ron was now pondering aloud, shoving an entire piece of toast smothered with jam into his mouth.

"I wish," Hermione told him wistfully. "But you heard what Dumbledore said, rather, what he told Mr. Weasley. We have to stay here."

"I _know_ Hermione," Ron stressed. "But I meant if they came with, or sent Tonks, or hell, even Moody. As scary as Mad-Eye is, I'm desperate enough to go anywhere with him so long as it gets me out of this house."

"He has a point," Harry conceded. "Right about now, even I'd take Mad-Eyes paranoia and him shouting 'constant vigilance!' every other minute."

"Oh, you two!" Hermione scoffed. "Come on, it can't be that bad. We'll find something to do!"

"Yeah, like what?!" Ron shot back, his dubious visage similar to Harry's.

"Something!" Hermione trilled, though her optimistic attitude seemed forced even to herself. "But only after the breakfast dishes are done. I cooked, so you two can clean," she continued, laughing when Ron scowled at her.


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: You know, I'm an idiot. I didn't label this fic AU, as it's OBVIOUSLY AU because if it was a longer fic I was writing, none of this stuff would be happening this fast...and I'm talking too much. Anyway, so it's definitely AU. For every review, I will do a song and dance to 'Bohemian Rhapsody' along with acting out with two random objects of your choice. And thus far, THANK YOU ALL for the reviews, favs, and alerts! They make my perpetually empty inbox most happy and they feed the Muse. No...literally, they feed the Muse. Your reviews are the equivalent of Teuscher truffles, and if you've never had one, they're like the Rolls Royce of chocolate. Get thee to a Teuscher and get some Jasmine truffles!_**

**_Nuff talk, onto the story. Oh yeah, Happy Friday!_**

* * *

It had been nearly a month since Hermione last saw the curmudgeonly professor. Lupin had returned to Grimmauld Place, handing Hermione three books from his collection back home before taking up with the boys. Ron and Harry were glad for Lupin's presence, as was Hermione, although she continued to silently worry about Snape.

It took a solid week of Ron begging and nagging at his dad before Mr. Weasley finally capitulated and allowed them a short trip to Diagon Alley. The only catch was that they all had to go out using Polyjuice Potion, and be escorted by no fewer than two Aurors.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione were buzzing with excitement at the prospect of traveling somewhere other than another floor of Grimmauld Place. Tonks, along with one other unfamiliar Auror, had showed up that morning, both wearing plain wizards' robes. Despite the risk they were all taking, the blue-haired witch merely added to the camaraderie, gently poking fun at their altered appearances.

"Bloody hell, I've forgotten how disgusting Polyjuice tastes!" Ron spat, uncouthly sticking out his tongue and wiping it on his sleeve. "I feel like I just drank a vat of warm p-"

"Ronald!" Hermione snapped, glaring at him with a pair of unfamiliar blue eyes.

The three had been transformed into much older adults, all with non-descript appearances that wouldn't attract unwanted attention. Everything had been sorted in a rather hush-hush manner, but without so many words, it was explained that the three had used hairs that were arbitrarily picked from unsuspecting Muggles.

Tonks laughed and jested, saying that they looked as if they could be her parents, calling Harry and Ron her dads and asking if she could have a few Sickles for some ice cream once they were in Diagon Alley.

Travelling by method of Muggle transportation, all the while Tonks fiddling with the many buttons and knobs on the dashboard, only for her colleague to slap her hand away, snapping at her to stay put. Ron, Harry, and Hermione were squeezed into the backseat, trying not to laugh at Tonks being chastised as if she was a small child. Tonks merely pulled a face at her partner, throwing a smirk over her shoulder to the three behind her.

As a result of growing up in the Dursley household, Harry had been well-versed in Muggle vehicles, and was more than happy to point out the function of each button on the dashboard. Tonks listened attentively, nodding her head at Harry's patient explanation.

It hadn't taken long for the group to make their way to Diagon Alley. Tonk's partner, a quiet Auror named Winnerip, gave explicit instructions on how they were going to proceed with their outing. Tonks and Winnerip would be unobtrusive, at the same time keeping the transformed teenagers within their sight at all times.

Harry and Ron were giving their divided attention to Winnerip, their eyes roving around and taking in the view of the shops they planned on visiting. Hermione was doing just the opposite, paying strict attention and almost looking as if she wanted to pull out a quill and parchment to take down notes.

It was no surprise that Hermione wanted to visit the bookshop, and a stoic Winnerip gladly acquiesced in escorting her there. Ron, Harry, and Tonks wanted to visit Quality Quidditch Supplies to look at the new racing broomsticks.

Within five minutes, Hermione had settled into a corner of Flourish and Blotts, three oversized books in her lap and another pile at her feet. Taking in each written word as if it was water and she was a woman that had been left out in a desert for thirty days, Hermione greedily pored over the tomes, oblivious to everything around her. Winnerip was standing covertly on the other side of the shop, deeply engrossed in a book of his own.

"Oh, excuse me," a portly, middle-aged wizard wearing drab brown robes said. He had been purposely striding down the aisle and his foot caught the edge of Hermione's neat pile of books, causing them to topple down and scatter all over the floor.

"Ronald!" Hermione hissed under her breath, tugging on the edge of his robes before he was able to walk away. "It's me, you prat!"

"Hermione? Damn, I'd nearly forgotten what you looked like!" he whispered, doubling back and bending down to restack her books. "Harry's outside with Tonks; we were going to get food and wanted to see if you wanted to come with."

"Would you mind grabbing me something? I'd really like to stay here. I'll eat whatever you get on the way back home."

"Sure thing," he promised before turning to walk out of the bookshop.

Hermione resumed her reading, ignoring the droves of witches and wizards that trickled past her. Finally settling her purchases with a clerk, Hermione shrank her oversized bundle and placed it in her purse. She then delicately hinted to Winnerip that a visit to the ladies' was in order and walked off.

_I needed this_, Hermione thought, peering at her altered appearance in the small mirror as she washed her hands at the sink. The short outing had been just the diversion she needed to get through another two months at Grimmauld Place. Although Hermione was less circumspect with her ebullience, she had been truly elated to go out and get away from the dark walls of 12 Grimmauld Place, away from Harry's surly house-elf, away from everything that had her in a perpetual state of uneasiness since the age of eleven.

Hermione had just walked out of the loo and was headed to find Winnerip when a multitude of screams suddenly rang out, a crowd of witches and wizards clamoring to push through the single, narrow door of Flourish and Blotts at the same time.

The deluge was entirely too thick for Hermione to make heads or tails of anything, and she found herself with her back pressed against a tall bookshelf, trying to avoid being knocked down and trampled. Witches and wizards were all in a panic, darting past her in a flurry of multicolored robes. Parents had scooped up their hysterically screaming children, one witch nearly falling and reaching out a hand to balance herself on Hermione's robes until an older man caught the woman and whisked her away.

Unable to so much as move to see where Winnerip was in positioned in the shop, Hermione ducked down and attempted to make her way back to the loo. She had moved all of two feet when a firm hand shot out and settled across her face, roughly pressing down on her nose and mouth.

Hermione instantly flailed her limbs, her handbag dropping with thump that was unable to be heard over the cacophony, tearing at the strong hand holding onto her and trying to get it away from her mouth. Judging by the hard body pressed against her back, Hermione guessed it was a man, a rather tall man, as his other arm was insinuated around her waist, easily hoisting her up off her feet and dragging her to Merlin knew where.

Refusing to go down without a fight, Hermione continued kicking and writhing about, desperate to get free of her captor. The man remained silent, his rough, calloused hand pressing further into the bridge of her nose, sending pain flaring throughout her head.

Right when Hermione attempted to move her jaw in aims of biting the offending limb, a flash of green light came from the vicinity in front of her, her captor groaning in pain and loosening his grasp.

A loud crack resounded in the shop as Hermione fell to the floor from the unexpected release, the back of her head coming in flush contact with the solid floor. Too dizzy to move for several seconds, when Hermione finally came around it was to see the terrified faces of Tonks, as well as a still Polyjuiced Harry and Ron. They were the only ones in the shop, and whoever grabbed her had obviously Apparated, and there was no way to trace behind him.

"Are you all right?" Tonks asked, wand in her left hand and her right hastily pulling Hermione up to her feet. "We've got to go, we can't stay here," she promptly told the three, her head whipping around as she looked for Winnerip.

When most of the patrons had fled from the shop. Winnerip was discovered lying face down, blood standing out starkly on his temple. Tonks let out a crude word as she turned him over, pointing her wand and shouting _Renervate!_

The older wizard came to, unsteadily sitting up and when clarity finally returned, he began explaining about someone attacking him, shortly afterwards flinging hexes at patrons in the shop. Realizing that the attack on the Auror had merely been a distraction-an almost well-thought out one-that served to attempt to bring the Golden Trio out of hiding.

It had worked as well. Winnerip had aimed a hex at the faceless, cloaked wizard trying to drag Hermione away, only for a Stunning Spell to be sent his way and knock him down.

With a forced calmness, the group walked out of Flourish and Blotts, making their way back to the wall being the Leaky Cauldron. Winnerip was holding a handkerchief to his head, pressing down to stop the flow of blood. Tonks bore a grim look on her face, her hands shaking as she swiftly directed the other three back to the car.

The ride back to Grimmauld Place seemed longer this time, the air thick with tension. Each time Ron or Harry tried to speak, desperate to find out what had just happened back in the book shop, Tonks grew shorter than usual, telling them to wait until they got back to headquarters.

Hermione was also shaken up, and had remained quiet ever since being pulled out of Flourish and Blotts. Harry had thoughtfully noticed her fallen handbag, and held onto it until they were in the car. He'd handed it to Hermione, asking in a troubled voice if she was alright. Hermione nodded her head, numbly taking her handbag from Harry, still unable to speak.

"Is anyone going to tell us what the bloody hell just happened?" Ron fumed, leaning forward in his seat and tugging on Tonk's headrest.

"Just give me a minute!" Tonks snapped, her eyes intently focused on the road. She seemed capable of driving, even if not completely comfortable with doing so. Winnerip removed the bright-red saturated cloth from his head, pulling down the passenger visor and examining his injury in the tiny mirror.

"We have to contact the others," he told Tonks in a low voice, turning around to glare at Ron, who immediately let go of Tonk's seat.

Ron and Harry continued talking over Hermione, the clammed up witch too distracted to bother with telling her friends to shut up and stop yelling over her. The small cluster finally arrived at Grimmauld Place, wands hidden in their sleeves but clutched tightly in their hands, ready to use if necessary. No sooner than they'd all spilled through the front door, Molly, Arthur, Kingsley and a haggard-looking Lupin descended upon the group.

"Oh, goodness! We came as soon as we found out what happened!" Molly shrilled, ushering a now back to normal Ron, Harry, and Hermione into the drawing room. Remus and Kingsley followed in behind, looking tense as ever.

"Are you kids all right?" Arthur cut in, attempting to force calmness into the room when he heard the panicked tone his wife's voice had taken.

"Yeah...I think so," Harry stammered. "What happened back there? One minute Tonks and I were standing in front of Flourish and Blotts, the next, everyone comes barreling out of the shop, nearly knocking us over."

"It was a group of You-Know-Who's minions," Tonks interrupted. "Not a lot of them, mind you, but enough, and they weren't dressed in their usual get-up. That's why no one noticed them, idiots. There are pictures of their faces plastered all over!" She had forced Winnerip to sit down and was peering at his head when he pushed her away, saying that he was fine. "I don't know how or if they even knew that we were there, but something happened for them to cause all the pandemonium."

"Moody's gone to check out things," Kingsley interrupted in a deep voice, walking over to the three teenagers. "Did you three see anything? Do you remember anything out of the ordinary?"

Hermione, Ron, and Harry were sitting together on a small sofa, each silently shaking their heads.

"Nothing at all?" Lupin interrupted. "Are you sure? Did you use each other's names, your real names?"

"Yes...but only once when Hermione and I were in the shop, and it was more like a whisper. I doubt anyone was actually able to hear," Ron told him.

Lupin began pacing back and forth, the agitation obvious on his face. "Something isn't right here, something had to have happened for this to have gone wrong. And you're absolutely sure that you hadn't noticed anything?"

"No," Hermione weakly uttered, finally finding her voice. "Ron and Harry stayed with Tonks to go in the Quidditch shop, and after that Ron came in Flourish and Blotts to ask if I'd wanted something to eat. Before that he tripped over my books, and that was the only time we'd used each other's names, but even then nothing happened. Nothing was amiss when I told Winnerip that I was going to the loo, but soon as I came out, there was screaming and someone grabbed me, but I couldn't see his face."

"His face? How do you know it was a man if you were unable to see them?" Kingsley asked.

"Believe me-it was a man. Unless there's a really strong woman with no breasts and hairy knuckles roaming about, this was definitely a man."

Mrs. Weasley continued fussing over the teenagers, growing snappish when Kingsley was insistent on pressing them for more information.

"We have to tell Dumbledore," he gravelly told Arthur. "And I know you don't want to hear me say it, but Remus is in no condition to remind behind at headquarters."

Remus shot Kingsley a sharp look at that comment, but quickly caved in. "You're right, it's too close to the cycle."

"You should have stayed behind," Tonks suddenly told him. "We could have handled everything."

The look on Remus' face was unfathomable as his eyes fell steadily upon the spiky blue-haired witch, yet he remained silent.

"She has a point, Remus," Molly gently told him. "The kids should be alright now, besides, it's not as if anyone unexpected is going to come through the front door."

Hermione got the distinct impression that either the adults truly were ignorant as to what really happened in Diagon Alley, or that they knew more than they were admitting. When speaking to Kingsley, Hermione had merely done so in an automated manner. While everyone around her kept talking in frenzied tones, she was busy wondering why she felt remarkably calm, especially considering the fact that someone had attempted to kidnap her and possibly do things that she didn't even want to contemplate had they succeeded.

Winnerip had finally mended his head with a bit of wand work, and gave Kingsley and Remus his own account of their visit to the bookshop. When it was deemed that the entire situation was critical yet unexplainable, Kingsley stated that he needed to get back to the Ministry and took his leave.

Mrs. Weasley was insistent upon sticking around at Grimmauld Place, claiming that she wanted to make sure Ron, Harry and Hermione had become more settled before leaving. Winnerip, Tonks, and Remus had already left, leaving behind Molly and Arthur. Mrs. Weasley prepared a simple meal, forcing the three to eat saying that they needed something to recover from their shock.

Ron had just taken a bite of his sandwich when Mr. Weasley stated that Snape would be returning to Grimmauld Place that evening. Loudly complaining around a mouthful of roast beef, Ron used no fewer than three unsavory epithets in reference to the professor. Harry didn't look happy at having Snape back either, but knew that it was pointless to fuss.

"Harry and Hermione have to stay here with Snape as well, and you don't hear them moaning!" Mrs. Weasley told her son, sounding completely miffed. "I'll admit that he isn't my favorite person, but at least he's serious enough to take on the job of looking after you three. All this morning, something kept telling me that you kids shouldn't have left the house today."

Mrs. Weasley went on fretting, all the while Ron and Harry eagerly continued to put away the large plate of sandwiches set before them. Hermione barely had an appetite and merely picked at her food, hoping that Mrs. Weasley wouldn't notice her not eating.

Thirty minutes later, Molly and Arthur told the three that they were going back to the Burrow. Ron went off at the mouth again, asking if Snape the bat had already flown into Grimmauld Place. Arthur told him to watch his mouth, but answered that yes, Snape was indeed already in the house.

Molly took her time kissing her son and adopted son and daughter goodbye, and she and Arthur left. Hermione was still out of sorts and told the boys that she was going to her room. Leaving them behind in the kitchen, she trudged upstairs, paying scant attention to Kreacher, who'd been lurking in the hallway, unsuccessfully polishing Mrs. Black's constant muttering portrait with a filthy rag.

In dire need of solitude, Hermione ensconced herself in the bedroom, not even bothering to remove her shoes as she sat cross-legged on the bed. Harry and Ron had been nothing but sweet, repeatedly asking if she was okay. More for their benefit, Hermione told them that she was fine, that in spite of being grabbed from behind in the book shop and hitting her head when she fell, nothing else was wrong. When they continued to look at her as if they expected her to crack, Hermione had waited another five minutes before feigning exhaustion and slipping out of the kitchen.

Hermione perfunctorily moved about, opening her handbag and dumping out the small cluster of purchased books, flicking her wand at each one to restore them to its proper size. She felt completely detached from her surroundings, and needed to do something, _anything_, that would distract her mind, or at least force her into a somewhat lucid state.

Attempting to read one of her new books, Hermione didn't realize that she'd been stuck on the same page for thirty minutes until Ron and Harry knocked at her door.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Harry asked, concern flooding his green eyes as he picked up on his friend's listless behavior.

"Yes," Hermione answered, leaning against the door frame.

"I told you she was fine," Ron mumbled to Harry, looking distracted himself. "You know how Hermione is sometimes."

Hermione wanted to smack Ron for his thoughtless comment, but found herself unable to muster the effort to do so. Telling her friends that she was going to bed early, Hermione bid them both goodnight and shut her door.

She was not fine. Hermione hadn't been fine ever since the battle at the Ministry of Magic. There had been a brief stretch of time where was positive that the Death Eaters were going to kill her and her friends and roast their bodies over an open pit, with the blood-thirsty Bellatrix dancing and cackling around the roaring flames as if it was her own personal witch hunt, with her macabre black robes flapping in the wind.

Numbly gathering her toilet kit, Hermione took went to the bathroom on her floor and sat on the edge of the tub, waiting for it to fill. The showerhead wasn't working properly and Mrs. Weasley had warned her that it was best to not use magic on it, as she wasn't familiar with the plumbing system. Hermione was in a daze as the water filled the dingy ceramic basin, and had to hurriedly add cold water when she realized that steam was filling the small room.

It was another half hour before Hermione emerged from the bathroom with still damp hair. Her body felt relaxed from the hot water but her mind remained riddled with anxiety. Dressed in pajamas and sitting in her bedroom, once more paying scant attention to the book in her hands, Hermione felt a sudden sense of constriction, and could no longer bear the sight of the tattered, dark blue wallpaper.

She had flung open the door and was on her way downstairs when she heard the voices of Ron and Harry on the way up. _I can't deal with them right now_, she thought fervently, making her footsteps light as she retreated and circled around to the stairs leading to the top of the house. Hermione had every intention of staying on the top landing when the boys paused at the bottom of the step.

"Say, do you notice that Hermione's been a bit off lately, I mean, more than usual?" Ron was asking.

"Someone tried to kidnap her, how else do you expect her to act?" Harry shot back.

"No, no, I don't mean that, but I mean, even before," Ron continued, his voice sounding pensive. "The only time she's somewhat normal is when Ginny comes around, and then she's chasing me down, making me sit with her while she reads. I wanted to hide her bloody book but Hermione can be scary."

Huddled down at the top of the steps, Hermione was sure that she heard Harry choke back a snort. He was probably also amused at the fact that Ron noticed the way Hermione demanded his attention when his sister was around, but knew that he hadn't worked out the why of it.

"Maybe we should check on her again, you know, before we go to bed," Ron then suggested, only for Harry to firmly protest.

"Are you mad? Hermione already said she wants to be left alone, and I don't feel like being told off tonight. No, we'll wait to see how she is in the morning."

"All right, I guess you have a point," Ron conceded, their voices growing dimmer as they continued down the hall and to their bedroom.

When the coast was clear, Hermione uncurled herself from her crunched up position, in aims of walking back downstairs. A door suddenly creaked open and she paused, hearing the footsteps of what sounded like Ron as he made his way to the bathroom.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione stayed put until her knees began to ache. A flicker of curiosity crossed her mind and her eyes flitted towards the room at the furthest end of the nearly pitch dark hallway. Remembering Mr. Weasley saying that Snape was in fact at Grimmauld Place, Hermione then noticed that she had yet to see or hear the austere man.

Without Ron and Harry's banter to distract her, Hermione began thinking about their unfortunate afternoon in Diagon Alley. Whatever it was, perhaps sitting in the barely lit hallway, it served to incite her already muddled thoughts, and Hermione had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from crying outright.

But she couldn't cry.

It seemed as if the weight of the entire stressful stay at Grimmauld Place heightened and amalgamated with the stresses of her nearly being kidnapped, and everything that she'd been unable to feel at the moment crashed down on her shoulders, leaving a viciously trembling witch in its wake.

Little dry sobs escaped from her mouth, and Hermione bit down on her hand, trying to muffle them. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of emotions that refused to relent, and it left her off kilter. All sorts of scenarios began running through her head-what if the person that grabbed her from behind had succeeded, what would they have done with her? What if the Death Eaters had managed to actually kill her and her friends? What if Winnerip and Tonks hadn't been there?

Wishing that things could go back to a state of relative normalcy was a pipe dream at best. Hermione knew that she was in this thing with her friends for food, and it didn't matter whether she wanted to be or not, as undoubtedly there was no walking away.

Still, holding it all in the way she'd been going about with seemed to only backfire, as Hermione was unable to gain control of her tempestuous emotions. She wished she had Crookshanks, as her cat was some small comfort, but she'd had to leave him behind in the care of her parents. Becoming so far gone, Hermione hadn't even noticed that someone was now standing in front of her until a glimmer of white light poured from the tip of a wand hovering near her head.

"Granger, why the devil are you sitting in the dark and crying?" the sour voice of Severus Snape hissed.

One trembling hand clamped down over her mouth, Hermione couldn't bring herself to lift her head to look up, and fought to regain control of her body. Taking a few deep breaths, she pulled both knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, closing her eyes and bowing her head.

Snape was still firmly rooted by her feet, impatience obvious in his voice as he told her, "If you're having some sort of break down, might I suggest you doing so on your own floor? I came up here in aims of silence and solitude; the sobs of a child three feet away from my door defeats that purpose."

Opening her mouth to say what, Hermione had no idea, yet she closed it and slowly shook her head, her still damp curls clinging to her shoulders. She didn't even care that Snape was more concerned with his quiet time being disrupted, totally ignoring the fact that she was obviously distressed. When she still didn't supply an answer fast enough for the peevish professor, Snape put out the light on his wand and stalked back down the hallway.

Hermione was unsure just how far he'd made it, as his footsteps were heavy with stealth and barely made noise on the ancient carpet, yet something in her finally broke and a loud, keening wail erupted from her mouth. Try as she might, Hermione couldn't stop. Every single worried thought she'd been holding onto seemed to come out with her cries, yet it still didn't feel remotely cathartic. If anything, she felt worse the more she cried, because Hermione knew that crying would solve nothing, and that if she cried or not there was still the chance of her young life ending too soon.

Chest heaving and tears dripping down her cheeks and falling to the tops of her hands, Hermione suddenly felt a surprisingly strong hand clamp down on her left arm and roughly hoist her to her feet, none-too-gently leading her down the hallway and into a dimly lit room that she'd only been in to clean once before with Ginny.

"Stop crying," Snape sharply ordered, firmly guiding her to sit on a low-placed, threadbare sofa.

It took Hermione more than a few minutes to calm down. "S-sorry," she stammered, chest heaving and using her hand to wipe the tears off her face. Her breath caught a few times before it finally evened out, and Hermione looked up through bleary eyes. Snape was standing across from her, looking slightly put out with his arms folded across his chest.

"Sorry, _sir,_" he dryly replied.

"Sorry, sir," Hermione mumbled, lowering her head again.

"Believe me, I'm not interested in the reason for your meltdown. I only brought you in here so your whinging didn't set off that damned portrait," Snape continued. "The last thing I feel like hearing at this untimely hour is that harpy screaming her head off." Falling silent, he looked across at Hermione who was practically curled up on the low sofa. He had already appraised her form upon finding her in the hallway, and noticed that she wasn't wearing the fluffy monstrosity that her favorite carpet slippers consisted of. Her sleepwear left much to be desired, but Snape tried not to have an opinion on that.

It didn't dawn on Hermione to feel uncomfortable, sitting before the professor in her sleeping clothes, even though they were a pair of soft pyjama bottoms and an old oversized shirt that once belonged to her Mum, both of which concealed much of her body. Her bathrobe was open, each side limping hanging down to the sofa.

The professor wasn't used to having anyone in his personal space, but was thankful when the witch toned down the hysterics. She looked completely rattled, and her once damp curls were now drying and turning into a cloud of frizz surrounding her face. _At least she's calm_, Snape reasoned, willing to throw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carry her back to her room if she kept at it. He had no Calming Draughts on hand and would easily set a Silencing Charm on her bedroom, allowing her to cry to her heart's content if she so wished, so long as it entailed him going to bed without hearing her.

Hermione wiped the remaining tears off her checks, yawning as lethargy began creeping into her limbs. She felt wrung out from every one of her emotions attacking her and leaving her out to dry, and Hermione was unable to think of anything else, she suddenly became so exhausted. Snape had moved to the other side of the room, and Hermione couldn't see him from her huddled position, although she heard pages being turned and surmised that he was reading.

She was surprised that he hadn't put her out right after snapping at her to stop crying. Pulling the ends of her robe around her body, Hermione pulled one of the flat, musty pillows from the other end of the couch and shoved it beneath her head. At that moment it didn't matter that the wizard who was known for his nasty temper and biting remarks was a mere few feet away from her. All Hermione could focus on was that her mind and body felt as if was aimlessly drifting to sea, leading her to a hyper relaxed state that would hopefully allow her to sleep.

The sound of pages being turned continued to softly reverberate throughout the room, a sound that was familiar and comforting to Hermione, and she moments later she fell asleep on the threadbare couch.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Because you all are wonderful, another update. I know there was a lack of Snape in the last chapter, here is our favorite buttoned-up, billowing cloak Professor in all of his surly glory. **_

_**Oh yes, last chapter at Worrywart's behest I held a baguette and danced a jig to 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. For my new trick...'Another One Bites the Dust'!**_

_**Thank you again for the reviews, alerts, favorites ;) they are much appreciated and feed the Muse (who has yet to be named. Maybe I'll name her with a symbol, like the Artist formerly known as Prince.)**_

* * *

The next morning, Hermione seemed to have bounced back, and her antisocial behavior was never brought up once during breakfast, or lunch for that matter.

It had been almost dawn when she was shaken awake, groggily opening her eyes to find that she was still curled up on the sofa in Snape's room. He told her that she had to go back to her own room, which she had, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes the entire way downstairs. Hermione had flopped down into her own bed, burrowing beneath her duvet, waking up hours later to the smell of bacon.

Shuffling down to the kitchen, Hermione found Ron standing at the hob, pushing slices of bacon around with a long, wooden-handled fork.

"Ron's volunteered to make breakfast," Harry laughed. "But I told him if he burns it, he eats it."

"Nose down, Harry," Ron grinned. "Mum taught me how to cook, you know that. And besides, if I did burn anything, I'd never have heard the end of it from Fred and George, who both say that ruining breakfast is downright indecent. Those tossers; of course, they never volunteered to help Mum, they just stuffed their gobs and ran out the back door. Dad caught them once and made them do dishes though, by hand."

Harry and Hermione were amused by that, and were leaning over the sides of their chairs with laughter.

"Why didn't Mrs. Weasley just make them cook once in awhile?" Hermione asked.

"Really, Hermione, Fred and George cooking?" he dubiously replied. "They'd probably burn everything up just to get out of it, knowing that Mum would never make them cook again. The rest of my brothers and Ginny know how to cook. Bill makes this excellent steak, and Charlie fed us some meat when we all went to visit him, although now that I think about it, I wonder if that animal was even supposed to be eaten."

"I... don't want to know," Harry replied with a slight frown.

"Me neither," Ron grimaced, "forget I even mentioned it. Say, I suppose we have to leave Snape some food too, Mum would kill me if I didn't share."

"That's very nice of you, Ronald," Hermione complimented. "Even though I'm sure you'll be thanked with some acerbic comment, the gesture is kind. Actually, I'll take it up to him and you can avoid the hassle."

"Really?" Ron asked, his eyes lighting up. "Thanks, Hermione. You're right, he'd probably tell me that the eggs are too runny and would try taking points from Gryffindor, even though we're not in school."

"He does have a point," Harry conceded, scooping out a generous portion of eggs and withdrawing four pieces of buttered toast with the other hand.

The three hurriedly finished their breakfast, and Hermione was soon taking a plate heaped with food upstairs.

"Why don't you just ask Kreacher to do that for you?" Ron asked, turning his head when Hermione shot him a scathing look.

"Last I checked my legs were working just fine," she snapped, covering the plate with a napkin. "And you know that I hate asking house-elves to do anything, why do you think I'd been working so hard with-"

"_SPEW_, yes, we know."

With a final eye roll, Hermione turned and left the kitchen, carefully walking all the way to the top of the house with Snape's breakfast in hand. Holding her breath when she walked past the Mrs. Black's portrait, she finally relaxed when she was nearly at Snape's door.

_Is this man paranoid or something?_ Hermione asked herself as the door was suddenly flung open when she was less than two feet away. Snape's black suited form dominated the entire stretch of doorway, and he was staring directly at Hermione. Looking back at the professor, she saw that he was holding his wand, only its dark tip visible and pointed towards the floor.

"Miss Granger," he curtly greeted, his face impassive. "And to what do I owe the pleasure?

"Well, it's breakfast time," she cautiously explained, trying not to shrink beneath the weight of the intense black eyes focused on her, "I thought you would like to eat."

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly as they flickered from the covered plate in Hermione's hand back up to her face. it was the first time that one of the three had actually made a special trip to offer him anything. Upon his arrival at the house, Harry had awkwardly explained the times that they usually ate when Snape soundly cut him off, stating that he would see to his own meals. After that there had been no offers to share meals, which was what he preferred. Of course Granger had to impose herself, which was to be expected.

"It's not been poisoned!" she assured, slightly thrusting the plate in his direction, chiding herself to not laugh as she thought back to Ron telling her and Harry that Snape had probably poisoned their cocoa. "Honest, I fixed it myself, and even charmed it to keep it warm."

With an impassive face and his eyes still on hers, Snape stretched out one long, black sleeved arm to take the plate from Hermione. She tried not to recoil when his cool, pale fingers brushed against her skin, and no longer able to hold his gaze averted her eyes, watching as his long fingers curved around the edge of the plate.

"Thank you. Anything else?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but decided against it, only looking back up when Snape retreated into his room and shut the door.

_The man's been shutting doors in your face ever since he's arrive here,_ Hermione told herself, surprised that she felt only marginally insulted. _Did you think taking him a bit of toast and eggs was going to change that?_

* * *

"Oh, bugger off, Harry!" Ron exploded, making the messy-haired wizard sitting across from him chortle.

The three were in the drawing room later that evening after dinner. Hermione was curled up on the sofa with a book in hand, listening to the heated yet friendly debate that was surrounding the game of Wizard's chess that Harry and Ron were deeply engrossed in. Harry was still under the tutelage of Ron, and it seemed that his instructor was very good as he was beating him, with Ron bellowing out in mock annoyance at each successful move.

"That's it, I'm not playing with you again," Ron threatened as Harry knocked another of his pieces off the board.

"Yeah, so who are you going to play with?"

"Not me!" Hermione's voice rang out from the sofa. "Last time I played with Ron, I wanted to smack him on the head."

"Ooh, I remember that," Harry cringed. "Maybe you can ask Kreacher. Or Snape."

Ron had been huddled over the chessboard, feverishly plotting out his next move when he heard Harry's comment, and his neck snapped up, a horrified look on his face. "You're supposed to be my bloody best friend, Harry!" he exclaimed. "Why would you even say a thing like that?"

Hermione giggled at the entire exchange, shaking her head when she saw Harry shrug his shoulders, a crooked grin on his face as he looked back at his traumatized best friend.

Although Hermione secretly admitted to herself, that Snape would most likely prove an excellent chess partner. As contrary as he was, Snape was as erudite as they came, and surely his head was filled with all sorts of knowledge.

Speaking of Snape...she hadn't seen him since that morning. If he had in fact come out of his bedroom, his presence went unnoticed, although Hermione knew that he'd visited the kitchen at some point, as the tray of lunch she'd left for him had been taken. It had been two hours since dinner, and Hermione feigned some excuse to go down to the kitchen, and was surprised to find that his meal was exactly where she'd left it; on the side counter, covered with a cloth and kept warm by way of stasis charm.

Once the three went off to their respective rooms for the night, Hermione crept back down to the kitchen, curiosity burning at her to find out if Snape had taken his dinner. She was about to roll her eyes upon seeing the tray that hadn't moved an inch, fervently believing that her good deed had been for naught.

Turning around so suddenly that she nearly tripped on the hem of her nightgown, Hermione hastily yanked it up when she heard a sudden thump through the ceiling. Thinking that Kreacher was banging around the house, Hermione kept on with her walk to the steps when she heard a low groan that most definitely did not belong to the house-elf.

Running up the stairs as fast as the voluminous nightgown would allow her, Hermione sank to her knees by the professor's side when she saw him in an ungainly sprawl in the middle of the hallway.

Snape would have snapped at the young witch that was now perched by his side, a frightened expression on her face, only he was in too much pain to do anything more than focus on taking small breaths.

Usually he had enough strength to fuss at Hermione, or to even offer one his always expected snide remarks, but the idea of constituting enough effort to even move his tongue made Snape want to turn his own wand on himself. Hermione had gently rested her hands on his shoulders in an attempt to help him sit up, to which Snape let loose a feral growl, and the girl fairly yelped.

_Damn, I hope those two idiots didn't hear this chit!_

It was bad enough that Hermione heard him, but Potter and Weasley finding him sprawled out like some helpless child would have been the proverbial perfect ending to a horrendous evening.

"What-what do you need me to do?" Hermione asked, her eyes widened with anxiety as she looked at Snape's nearly colourless complexion. If he looked half as bad as he felt, then it was no wonder the young witch was so shaken up.

The day had questionably started out without a snag, but when it came to Snape's life in general, snags were always to be expected. He was surprised that Hermione had personally brought him breakfast that morning, his apprehension growing when he later saw the tray of lunch with his name scribbled on a scrap of parchment and laid next to it that afternoon. If there had been any further meals, Snape was unaware as the Dark Mark branded into his arm began burning early that evening, and his departure from Grimmauld Place had been hasty.

Dimly registering that Hermione was again asking him what he needed, Snape managed to choke out for her to leave him alone, only for the bookish witch to respond with crude words that were totally out of character for her.

"Can you move?" she then asked, causing silent anger to bubble up in the wizard.

_No, I can't bloody move, you daft girl! _he screamed inwardly, the idea of moving even the smallest part of his body making the already agonizing pain soar to new heights. The Dark Lord had been more wand happy than usual at the gathering, also encouraging the Death Eaters to hurl twice the amount of hexes and curses at one another, in hopes of doing what, no one seemed to know. Snape secretly knew it was merely because Voldemort was a sadistic bastard on a power trip, which was reason enough in the megalomaniac's snake eyes.

Hermione uttered another crude word before hissing out for Harry's house-elf, moments later the dirty rag covered Kreacher appearing. He had just snarled 'Mudblood' at Hermione before she sharply silenced him, reminding him that Harry had ordered for him to listen to her.

"I need you to take us to the top floor," she hastily explained to the house-elf, that remained snarling at her underneath his breath. " Now, Kreacher!" With that, Hermione rested one hand on Snape's shoulder, waiting for the house-elf.

None-too-gently, Kreacher touched a gnarled hand to Hermione as if he expected her skin to be made of fire, yet Apparated both her and Snape to the end of the hallway at the top most floor. When Ron nor Harry opened their bedroom doors at the resounding crack of Apparition, Hermione gingerly placed her arms beneath a subdued Snape's shoulders, grunting as she bore most of his weight and dragged him into the pitch dark bedroom.

As gently as she was able to manage, she felt around for the bed and got him on the mattress. Hastily flicking her wand to light the candles in the room, Hermione waited until she was able to see everything through the orange glow. Snape's eyes were closed, perspiration dotting his furrowed forehead, and it seemed as if he was wincing, although no sound came from his mouth.

Truly at a loss as to how she could help the suffering man, Hermione did the next best thing she could think of and moved to the edge of the bed, using trembling fingers to grab onto Snape's polished to a gleam dragon hide boots and ease them off his feet. His breathing was labored and his eyes were closed, and Snape looked remarkably small yet somehow still managed to cut a daunting figure as he lay shrouded in his forbidding black, tightly buttoned suit and black traveling cloak.

His throes of agony having slightly subsided, Snape felt Hermione gently pull off his shoes, setting them down on the floor with a quiet thump. She then silently lingered at the bedside, and he could feel her brown eyes burning a hole into his face. His everyday appearance never failed to put people off, and no doubt he currently looked like some even more ghastly rendition of a wraith.

"Sir?" he heard Hermione whisper. "Can I get you...do you need something, water perhaps?"

Snape gave a small, feeble nod, frowning slightly when he felt the muscles in his neck twinge. Paying scant attention to the witch withdrawing her wand and Conjuring a glass, it was soon filled with water, and one hand slipped beneath the pillow supporting him instead the back of his neck, and he was assisted in sitting up enough to get some of the water into his mouth. It tasted flat and stale being that it came by way of wand, but it was better than nothing and Snape greedily gulped it down, exhaling loudly when he could drink no more.

Hermione slowly eased him back down to the bed, taking great care in not jarring his head when she pulled her arm from beneath the pillow. Once again, at a loss, Hermione asked if needed anything else, more water, food, anything-to which Snape weakly held up a hand, motioning for her to be quiet. Taking a seat on the uneven sofa, Hermione kept vigil from across the room, jumping up like a spooked deer whenever Snape thrashed about.

She had a slight idea of what happened to him, but knew better than to ask. To do so meant to incur a sound verbal lashing when the man was well, and she'd had enough of his berating to last a lifetime. Able to boldly stare at the professor now that his eyes were closed, Hermione saw that he was still sweating profusely, the lank strands of black hair plastered to his head in damp strands.

The first couple times she helped Snape to his room, he merely excused her and she had gone back to her room. Hermione was shocked that he hadn't kicked her out, even though part of her would have been too worried to leave the weakened man alone. The black suit concealed much of Snape's body, and Hermione thought about removing the outer layers but was scared to move him as she had no idea what sort of injuries he'd sustained, and felt very much out of her depths.

Hermione didn't know how much time had passed. Snape's breathing was now less labored, and his limbs had fallen slack atop the duvet. Still, his sleep was fitful and he seemed feverish, as even through the candlelight she was able to tell by the flush on his normally sallow cheeks.

Standing up from the sofa and cautiously creeping over to the bed, Hermione loomed over Snape's unnaturally still body, only the faintest rising of his chest visible through the many black layers covering him.

_Merlin, I hope he doesn't wake up_, she thought, standing so close to Snape that she was able to see the curve of his eyelashes resting upon his gaunt cheekbones. No pun intended, but Snape did remind her of a tightly coiled snake, silently watching and waiting for its prey to get close enough before going in for the kill. By chance the wizard did wake up, Hermione knew the least of her worries would be a sound verbal lambasting-she would most likely end up pinned to some surface with his wand at her throat.

Steeling herself in case she needed to suddenly jump back, Hermione gingerly pressed the back of her hand to Snape's damp forehead, finding that he was in fact burning up. Having no fever-relieving potion on hand, and doubting that Snape would accept the Muggle medication, paracetamol, even if he could swallow, Hermione resorted to more basic measures and Conjured a dish with ice water and a soft cloth.

Snape barely flinched when the cold compress was placed on his forehead. Hermione could hear his caustic voice in her head, berating and belittling her if she dripped water onto his clothes, and she made sure to wring out the excess moisture each time she rewet the cloth. Thirty minutes later, she put her hand to Snape's head again, finding that the fever had slightly subsided. The ice in her dish was melted and the water tepid, and she vanished its contents and Conjured the dish to refill itself.

The next batch of ice water was nearly done when Hermione wrung out the cloth for the last time, before placing it on Snape's forehead. She thought the candlelight was playing tricks on her eyes for a moment until she realized that his eyes had in fact opened slightly, unfocusedly staring back up at her. Hermione had been perched next to him on the bed, her hand extended across his face and about to retrieve the now warm cloth when she noticed the professor looking right at her. She went rigid with fear, unsure of what his reaction would be to seeing her there. However, after what seemed like the longest minute of life, Snape's eyes lazily slid shut and she breathed a sigh of relief, slowly peeling the cloth away from his forehead and placing it back in the dish.

Carefully moving so that she wouldn't shake the mattress too much, Hermione vanished the remaining water from the dish and set it on the floor next to the bed. She sat back against the headboard and tucked herself into a little ball, her eyes furtively straying over to Snape who was once again sleeping soundly.

The room was eerily quiet save for the sound of the professor's deep breathing. Hermione dimly wondered if she should return to her room, but decided against it in the event that something went wrong with Snape. He might have been a bastard towards her and her friends, but malicious was something that Hermione was not. And besides, even though he'd dressed her down the night before when he found her crying in the hallway, he still let her calm herself out of earshot of Ron and Harry, going so far as to let her remain in his room. Hermione didn't know what to make of that, as he usually kept his distance from the three as well as any students back at Hogwarts outside of classroom hours. Unless he was assigning detention, in which case he seemed to pull students out of thin air.

Either way, Hermione decided to stick around until she knew for sure that the professor was all right, and attempted to stay awake, despite her burning eyes growing heavy.

* * *

Snape gave a low grunt as his overtaxed eyes struggled to open and take in his surroundings. His body ached from head to toe, and he was sweating profusely and sticking to his clothes when he remembered that he was still clad in his suit and traveling cloak. Assembling the fortitude to sit upright, he painfully got off his cloak, cravat, and suit jacket and tossed the items to the foot of the bed. His shoes were already off, as he noticed his black sock clad feet, so that at least spared him the effort of bending down to remove them.

Cringing as he lifted his arm to run a hand through his lank hair, Snape noticed that only one candle was lit in his bedroom, giving off a glow that barely illuminated a small, curled up lump that was opposite him, nearly at the edge of the mattress. The intruder's face was buried in their folded arms but the wild mass of curly hair draped onto their shoulder and spilling down the pillow gave enough away for Snape to know who was in his room.

His first instinct was to shake the young witch awake, demanding to know who she thought she was to take liberties and fall asleep in his bed, until Snape remembered that it was said witch who looked after him when he was unable to do little more than blink and nod.

_Fuck_, he inwardly fumed, feeling the residual pounding at his temples. He still felt stifled wearing so many clothes, and perspiration had his white linen shirt and undershirt feeling like a second uncomfortable skin. Still too indisposed to move, Snape withdrew his wand from his sleeve and cast a cooling charm on the room. _Much better_, he thought, the lowered temperature instantly soothing his afflicted body.

Awkwardly perched against the headboard, Snape turned his head towards his nightgown covered bed partner to find that she had curled into a tighter ball and was slightly shivering in the midst of sleep. Rolling his eyes, he reached over and roughly drew the duvet up and settled it over Hermione, leaving only her head exposed. The girl's limbs soon relaxed with the added warmth, and she never stirred out of her sleep.

Once again, save-the-day Granger had stuck her nose where it didn't belong, but had it not been for her Snape knew that he would have still been prostrate and clinging to the dirty floor of the vestibule. He somewhat remembered Hermione asking him what he needed, before summoning Potter's nasty house-elf, who sneered at the young witch only to receive a verbal lashing. The next thing he knew was that he was being hauled with some difficulty in the darkened room, wanting to weep with relief when his aching body met with the bed, despite the old, lumpy and uneven mattress.

His tongue felt swollen and as if it was made of cotton, and Snape remembered that he'd almost bitten through it at some point of his 'meeting'. Granger thankfully had been intuitive enough to ask if he was thirsty, and the warm glass of water had been ambrosia on his parched tongue. Self-healing his injuries had been out of the question, as Snape didn't have enough energy to lift a finger, and having the young, inexperienced witch attempt to tangle with Dark Magic had been out of the question.

Highly aware of the too young witch curled up next to him, Snape found it difficult to go back to sleep. Unbeknownst to the girl, Snape was well acquainted with her tendency to offer assistance, even to those who were undeserving-like himself, he couldn't help but to wonder what her motivation was for helping him.

Furthermore, what was disconcerting was the fact that she was easily sleeping in his presence, as she also done the night before only on his sofa. Ever since he could remember, Granger barely looked him in the eye, at Hogwarts or elsewhere. If he was being honest, Snape wouldn't have said that the girl was scared of him. Perhaps leery was a better word. As it were, he still didn't know how to feel about Hermione being in such intimate proximity to him. Had anyone else caught wind of the two in the same bed, Snape knew that he would be strung up and gelded, being accused of trying to taint the heart and soul of the Golden Trio.

Of course, it would be futile to explain that the girl helped him willingly, without managing to ask too many insipid questions or get on his last nerve.

When pale blue light began peeking through the cracks of the moth-eaten drapes hanging over the windows, Snape reached over and shook Hermione's duvet covered shoulder.

"You need to return to your room, Granger," he told her in a rough voice when her brown eyes opened sluggishly, the girl pausing as if she was unsure where she had spent the night. Her eyes finally widened as comprehension dawned upon her, and Hermione sat up in bed, causing the duvet to fall from her body.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to fall asleep here," she told him, instantly coming to and stumbling over her words.

Snape merely returned a fixed gaze, his dark eyes bloodshot and heavy lidded. "On your way then, before anyone sees you."

Hermione obediently nodded her head, her eyes straying over Snape's white shirt and black trouser clad body that had remained atop of the bed sheets the entire time she was next to him. Unable to keep from staring, it felt nearly deviant seeing him sans black frock coat, as Snape was always buttoned to the nines and leaving only his head and fingertips exposed. Her eyes fell to his pale hands, both of which were palm down on the duvet, the fingers slightly curved and relaxed against the folds of the material. Hermione half expected Snape to have a myriad of scars covering his hands, which would most likely offer some explanation as to why the man kept himself cloaked in the concealing garments, and was surprised to find that the skin was smooth looking and unmarked. The only other rarely shown patch of skin exposed was the notch in Snape's throat, right below his Adam's apple, and Hermione wasn't brazen enough to focus that high up.

"If you're done with your appraisal, I insist that you take your leave," he told her in a clipped tone. Snape actually didn't give a damn if Hermione stayed or not; he just wanted to get out of his clothes, and resume a more comfortable sleep.

Cheeks burning when she realized that she'd been caught, Hermione climbed out of bed, the uneven mattress squeaking lightly at the shift in weight. She was halfway across the room when she realized that her wand was still buried beneath the pillow, and Hermione came back around to retrieve it. The entire time, Snape's black eyes followed Hermione's every movement, unblinkingly remaining so until she uttered a soft "Good night, rather, good morning," before stepping out of the bedroom and gently shutting the door behind her.

Snape wasted no time in stripping down to his under clothes and stretching out beneath the duvet. Groaning as he rolled over, a lingering floral scent instantly accosted his nostrils, and Snape found that he'd buried his face into the pillow that Hermione had slept on. Even though he was well on his way to a somewhat sound sleep, Snape frowned into the pillow, annoyed yet unsure as to why he was annoyed at the innocuous scent. Still, he didn't move from his position and was asleep within a split second.

* * *

It was noon when the Potions master finally woke up. Potter's house-elf had come to his room to leave a tray of food, yet for some reason the usually snarling Kreacher kept all snide comments to himself. Snape pretended to ignore the fact that Hermione wasn't the one to come to his door, going so far as to think that he didn't give a damn if Potter himself had come up, seconds later vehemently protesting that notion.

Snape remained in his room all day, only venturing out to use the loo, prior to making sure that his three charges were nowhere in the vicinity. Evening found him sitting at the little desk in his room, deeply engrossed in a book when a familiar, timid knock was issued at his door. The soft rapping could only belong to one person, and Snape didn't even bother getting up after telling Hermione to come in.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, cautiously stepping into a room and standing by the sofa, a covered tray in her hands. There was a wary look in her eyes, as if she was remembering the way Snape looked upon returned to Grimmauld Place.

"Well as can be expected," he tersely replied.

The loud-mouth witch that had snapped at Kreacher just the night before, was now replaced by a more subdued Hermione. Awkwardly looking around for a surface to place the tray down upon, Snape beckoned her over with one long finger. Scooting back just far enough in his seat, Snape watched as Hermione arranged everything on his desk before stepping back, pausing as if waiting for him to speak.

"Are you going to stand there gawking? Or perhaps you'd like to sit down?" he drawled, uneasy with the young witch practically looming over him.

"Sorry," Hermione replied, crossing back over to the sofa and sinking down.

Snape was honestly surprised when Hermione quietly sat, allowing the man to eat his dinner in peace without her firing a barrage of questions his way. The only thing she asked was if she could see a book of his that was left by the bedside, to which Snape told her yes.

"Are things so uninspired with Potter and Weasley that you saw fit to seek out less than savoury company?" Snape asked in the midst of eating.

"Uninspired is an understatement," Hermione chuckled, thinking back to the dull conversation between the boys that left her more irritated than anything. For some reason Ron had been struck with the notion to ask Harry about all of the girls he'd ever kissed, and to pick who was the best snog and who was the worse. Hermione instantly feigned female problems, to which the boys were only too happy for her to leave, and she instantly escaped to her room. She'd been in there for all of five minutes when Snape crossed her mind, and Hermione went back down to the kitchen to fix a tray for him.

"I didn't think you carried on with those two for the scintillating conversations," he continued dryly, a pronounced smirk on his face.

Hermione bit back a laugh at the obvious jibe at her friends, but decided to leave that alone. "There's only enough room for one swot in the group. I help to balance things out."

"Indeed. Just mind that your little friends don't get you into anymore sticky situations. That would be most...unfortunate."

Hermione grin faltered just a bit, and she raised an eyebrow, wondering just how much Snape knew about their childhood antics.

"Oh yes, Miss Granger," Snape drawled. "Just because I haven't mentioned it, doesn't mean that I'm unaware."

Hermione was properly abashed and lowered her head, thankful that her wild mop of curls concealed her flaming face. Snape resumed his meal and she with her book, until he took his last bite and set down his fork with an air of finality.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Hermione replied nonchalantly, trying to not make a big deal out of the professor displaying what an outsider would construe as manners. She was most surprised when he picked up his tray and walked to the bedroom door, opening it and calling for the house-elf, who snarled upon seeing Hermione yet fell silent when Snape told him to shut up and take the tray back to the kitchen.

"I almost prefer Potter's annoying house-elf," Snape grumbled.

"Who, Dobby?" Hermione asked brightly, surprised that Snape even knew about Dobby. "He's gotten Harry into a kerfuffle or two, but he means well."

"Yes, well..." Snape trailed off, sitting down across from Hermione on the edge of his bed. He sat with his arms folded across his chest, staring back at the completely unfazed witch. "Pray tell, what were the two dunderheads so deeply engrossed with at length that sent you running?"

Perplexed that Snape was asking her something so informal, Hermione attempted to hide her surprise and answer the question. "They were comparing girls they've kissed, who was the best and so forth, which is sure to lead into a whole 'my horse is bigger than your horse'. If I might be so bold, I really don't give a damn."

"And why is that, Miss Granger?" Snape archly enquired. "Low in the hierarchy?"

"I'm going to pretend that was a joke," Hermione shot back. "I'm not a part of the hierarchy. I told Ron to keep his hands to himself back in third year."

"Now that is interesting," he continued in a smooth voice.

"Not really," Hermione admitted. "Fred and George dared Ronald to kiss me, and if I let him they'd give him a Galleon each. He got all of four feet within me before I threatened to hex him."

Snape let out something that was akin to a laugh, although his austere features remained so impassive it was hard to tell.

"Can I ask you something, Professor?"

Snape suspiciously narrowed his black eyes, yet exhaled with impatience. "I suppose I should have been expecting this, but do go on."

"Are you scared or...you know...worried?"

Hermione looked back at him so imploringly that Snape was positive the young witch had caught onto more than she let everyone know, as her soft, brown eyes pleaded with him to tell her the truth. Snape exhaled again, the usually snappy wizard trying to come up with the proper words. He knew that Hermione was young, but she was anything but daft. It would have been easier to feed her some inane drivel, but Snape had never been one to beat around the bush, and he had no intention of starting now, especially with the curly-haired clairvoyant peering right into his face.

"Yes...and no," he stiffly answered, shocked that he was willing to placate her, at the same time not wanting to say too much. "Although, it's futile to be worried or scared, as I'm sure you know whatever is meant to happen will happen."

"I know, but still..." Hermione trailed off, a pensive look clouding her face, ignoring the fact that she was being closely scrutinized by a pair of black eyes.

"Why?" came the single-worded interrogation that seemed to hold the weight of the world. He wanted to know what was the sudden change in her attitude towards him, why Hermione had suddenly decided to help him.

"Why not?" Hermione softly replied, understanding the unspoken parts of his query.

Snape slowly nodded his head, the black curtains of hair partially obstructing his face. "You are without a doubt a very odd witch. But I expect that you would be the sort to pet a rattlesnake and try to justify its reaction when it bites you."

"You know, it's a funny thing; just the other day I thought that you reminded me of a snake, one sitting in a garden, coiled up and ready to make its move. Uncanny, isn't it?"

"Very much so," he dryly agreed.

"All right, well, I'd better get back downstairs before I have to have a pull for the bathroom before Ron and Harry come up," Hermione said, standing up from the sofa and replacing Snape's book on the nightstand. She didn't notice as the wizard stiffened as she breezed past him. Hermione still had one hand on the doorknob, ready to open it when she said, "And just so you know, that snake analogy...when I thought about it, I pictured a non-venomous snake." With that she turned and walked away, leaving behind a stony countenanced yet pensive Snape.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: First I mulled and mused over this chapter, then I rewrote it three times, but not before consulting a friend. Thank you CRMediagal, Worrywart, and MrsHH for letting me make your eardrums bleed! And I still don't know about it but...meh. **_

_**Thank you for the reviews, ideas, alerts, and favorites! :D You all are the best.**_

* * *

Hermione couldn't sleep. She kept tossing and turning for an hour, finally kicking the duvet away from her legs and sitting up. What was the matter with her? Nothing out of the ordinary happened that day to set her off kilter, unless she wanted to count Snape talking to her like a civilized human being instead of the snapping, snarling wizard that was usually present.

_Admit it, you fancy him._

_I do not!_

_You're a horrible liar. It's one thing to lie to someone else, but to yourself it's just sad._

Hermione sighed, telling herself that she did fancy him. She had no idea why, well, she had to admit that his intelligence was something to be admired. And the professor seemed to have some couth, even if it was rarely shown, if she were to go by him letting her sleep in his room the night he'd found her crying in the hallway. Plus, the entire time she sat in Snape's room while he ate his dinner, not once did his face turn up into a sneer, at least not at her, that had been reserved for Kreacher, but even some small part of Hermione had to admit that the rancorous house-elf had it coming.

_Just because a man doesn't sneer at you or insult you, means that you should automatically fancy him, you idiot!_

_Who the hell asked you?_

_Well, go on, then. Don't say I didn't try to warn you._

Hermione wanted to put a muzzle on her chatty conscious. She had never told anyone-she would have rather died than to admit it-but there had been an incident way before Hermione and her friends being relegated to Grimmauld Place that made her take a closer look at Snape.

Her hand still hadn't completely healed from the she-devil-in-pink, otherwise known at Umbridge, blood-letting detention. It was rare that Hermione wasn't in the company of Ron or Harry, but the one day she happened to be alone, Umbridge's minions had descended upon her, with an all too eager Draco Malfoy ready to accuse Hermione of breaking one of the unreasonable rules that had been set by said evil professor.

Umbridge had just rounded on Hermione when Snape suddenly appeared in the corridors, his black teaching robes billowing behind him as he stalked over in their direction. He immediately lit into Hermione, embarrassing her in front of his Slytherin students and stating that she was late for a detention that she never remembered being assigned. He had soundly ignored a sputtering Umbridge, guiding Hermione down to his Potions classroom and directing her to sit at one of the tables closest to his desk. Snape had then taken his place at his desk, pulling over what looked like a pile of exams and engrossed himself with correcting them, his quill moving with a flourish over each bit of parchment, leaving behind long trails of red.

Hermione hadn't known what to make of Snape escorting her to his office, only for him to soundly ignore her, but being the studious witch that she was, she used the time to go over her own class assignments. Snape remained silent for the entire hour, never once looking up until he told Hermione to go to dinner.

When she found Harry and Ron at the entrance of the Great Hall, obviously waiting around to see if she was going to show up, they immediately asked where she'd been the entire time, and Hermione told them she went to the library and had lost track of time, unsure of why she chose to keep the truth to herself. It wasn't until she was in bed later that night when Hermione realized Snape had covertly kept her out of Umbridge's clutches. She was sure that he knew about the detentions, the blood-letting quills, and Umbridge's cruelness in general, yet Snape never said a word. Not that she expected him to, and most definitely not to a swotty little Gryffindor.

Hermione had been trying to keep a level head, but even she had a breaking point and didn't how much more she would have been able to take of that quill cutting into her skin, all with the lurid pink swathed witch sadistically grinning at her. Hermione had been silently grateful for Snape swooping in, but knew that it was best if she kept her mouth shut. The incident was never mentioned or so much as hinted at, and after that day Snape went on treating Hermione just like he had previously.

Before Hermione realized what she was doing, she grabbed her wand from beneath her pillow while simultaneously throwing her legs over the edge of her bed, feeling around for her slippers and guiding her feet inside. Without giving any forethought as to the consequences of her actions, Hermione found herself quietly walking out of her bedroom, gently closing the door behind her and forgoing using the light from her wand as she climbed the staircase to the topmost floor of the house. The winds of fortitude suddenly left her sails as she was in front of Snape's door, and Hermione was unable to knock, irresolute as to whether she wanted to go or stay.

Suddenly the door creaked open, as if making the decision for her.

"Miss Granger, is there any particular reason for you lurking in front of my bedroom at this hour?" Snape's voice silkily cut through the darkness.

"I..." she uttered as her voice caught unwillingly in her throat. Only the faint outline of Snape's lean form towering over hers in the doorway was visible from the small amount of light coming in through the back window of his bedroom. Still, he left it open and Hermione decided to stop dithering about and bravely walked inside, trying not to jump when she heard the door shut.

"Potter and Weasley try to lure you into more of their colourful conversation?" he asked.

"No," Hermione answered, still unsure of just what her reason was for skulking to Snape's room in the middle of the night. He was standing close enough to her that Hermione could feel the air steadily streaming from his nose each time he exhaled. She reckoned that she would have been able to feel his body heat, but judging from the few times she'd held his hand, Hermione knew that Snape's skin usually felt cool to the touch.

"Miss Granger, whatever is going through your mind, rest assured, I will be the one to stop it," Snape suddenly told her, his hand going back to the doorknob to wrench the door open when Hermione stopped him, her small hand coming down on his wrist and lightly squeezing.

Hermione didn't have a remote idea of what she was doing, but at that moment all she could focus on was her own hastened breathing that nearly seemed to rival Snape's. Swallowing hard, the sound extra loud in the stark silent room, Hermione slowly stepped closer to Snape, keeping her hand on his wrist.

Snape suddenly stepped back as if he'd been burnt, and before Hermione could get the chance to waylay him, he swept away from the bedroom door and stalked over to the sofa, perching on its edge, uneasiness clearly visible through his rigid stance. At that point Hermione felt like an idiot, her gauche attempt at what-she was still trying to work that bit out-obviously failing.

The room felt as if all the air had been sucked out of it. Snape hadn't a clue as to what Hermione was playing at, but when she walked over to him, her slipper covered feet making a faint shuffling on the wooden floorboards, some part of him registered that he didn't want her to leave, and that in itself was enough to make him want to shove the girl out of his room.

A glint of Hermione's shapeless nightgown came into view, and Snape reached out to it, pinching a small side of the thick material between two fingers. Hermione remained absolutely still, as if waiting to see what the professor would do. But before Snape could do something that he would regret, with the same hand he bunched the material in a tight fist and roughly pulled Hermione to sit on the sofa next to him.

"Why are you here?" he demanded accusingly, going from zero to ten within the blink of an eye and making the young witch jump in fright.

"Is there any reason I shouldn't be?" she asked, forcing herself to keep all traces of sarcasm out of her voice.

"Don't be insolent, you little bint. I'm not half-dead on the floor making a fool out of myself, so stop your whiffling and tell me what it is you want."

"I don't want anything," Hermione quietly admitted, jumping when Snape took his hand away from her.

There was a brief rustling of fabric, followed by a bright white light erupting between the two. "Take a good look, girl," Snape snarled, holding his lit wand beneath his angular face, making him look more sinister than anything. "I want you to remember just whom it is you're dealing with. Now, I'm going to ask you one last time-_what do you want?"_

Hermione was frozen solid, unable to move or so much as speak as she stared into Snape's face, his black eyes intently boring into hers. Despite the scathing look he was giving her, one that Hermione was well-familiar with, having been on the receiving end of it countless times for what Snape called 'showing-off' in class, some part of her senses reassured that she wasn't in any immediate danger.

Still, the sound of Hermione swallowing hard betrayed her nervousness when the light on Snape's wand was suddenly extinguished. She fought back a yelp when the surprisingly agile wizard shifted on the sofa and frighteningly fast was hovering over her, his warm breath tickling the side of her face.

"Do you remember our little chat about snakes, Miss Granger?" he asked in a low, placating tone that was incongruous to how he actually felt.

"Yes," she answered in a small voice, too scared to move an inch out of place.

"Pray tell what you predict happening if some naive little girl willingly walked into a snake pit?"

Hermione's eyes impulsively slid shut, her fingers curling against her cotton covered thighs as Snape continued talking, the air from his mouth brushing against her neck and causing every inch of her body to break out in goose bumps beneath her nightgown. She didn't know if he meant for that to happen, but Hermione would have been in severe denial had she claimed that her toes were curling up because of the cold air in the room.

Snape's knees shifted against the sofa, causing the cushions beneath them to dip down lower and jostle her. Without forewarning a cool, long-fingered hand curved around her throat, its grasp tightening just at the threshold of discomfort. Another gust of air brushed cross her face, and Hermione reflexively parted her lips. On tenterhooks as she waited to see what Snape would do, Hermione became light-headed her heart pounded so furiously, her pulse thrumming insistently right beneath his fingertips.

"She would get bitten," Hermione finally uttered once she'd found her voice.

"Precisely," Snape drawled in a tone so rich yet ominous Hermione couldn't help but to think that she was about to get bitten herself, the mere idea enough to made her shudder. "Keep that in mind the next time you decide to wander to a man's room in the middle of the night. Now get out," he finished in menacing hiss.

With that Snape let go of Hermione and stood up, the hostility rolling off him in waves as he impatiently waited for the bold young witch to run from his room. Run, she did not, although she unwaveringly rose, hesitating for a moment before stumbling out of the bedroom.

* * *

"What's the matter, Hermione?" Harry asked the next day when he noticed his best friend's unusually muted countenance.

"Oh, nothing. Headache," she feebly offered, pretending to focus on her book.

After Snape put her out of his room the night before, Hermione lie awake for hours, his words on repeat in her head. It was nearly dawn when she finally fell asleep, and even then she'd woken up earlier than Ron and Harry. Desperate for something to distract herself with, Hermione decided that she would make pancakes for breakfast.

Kreacher had been polishing his Mistress' muttering picture frame, his lips instantly curling up when he caught sight of the young witch. The last thing she felt like hearing was epithets from him or Mrs. Black, and she soundly ignored both on the way down to the kitchen.

She had just finished piling the last stack of pancakes onto a plate when Harry walked into a kitchen, Ron yawning and shuffling in behind him. Both boys instantly perked up when they saw the steaming food waiting for them, and thanked Hermione before enthusiastically digging in. Her stomach still twisted into knots from the night before, Hermione wasn't all that hungry and was content to sip on her glass of juice.

Hermione had wavered between sending Snape up a tray, but finally relented, and had Kreacher take it moments before Harry and Ron came down for breakfast. She half-expected for the house-elf to bring it back downstairs, still covered with food along with a biting message, but when neither came Hermione hummed in surprise and left it alone.

Now the three were in the drawing room, which had become a regular thing. They were all engaged in their preferred activities when Mr and Mrs Weasley, and Ginny stopped by. Molly had restocked their fridge and pantry before offering to make dinner for everyone. Harry's face lit up at the sight of Ginny and the two went off to find a bit of privacy, and Hermione launched into her usual routine of keeping Ron out of their hair.

Ron had grumbled when Hermione dragged him down to the kitchen so they could help his mother prepare dinner. Mr Weasley had been asking them how things were going at Grimmauld Place, his face falling a bit before telling them that Remus had a little mishap with his last bout of Transformation, and was taking a bit longer than usual to heal but was on the mend.

_Well that's just bloody convenient,_ Hermione sniped, quietly telling herself that this all equated to Snape staying with them for an undisclosed amount of time, unless someone else resumed his post as what he'd once snidely referred to as 'Au Pair to the Infamous Golden Trio'. That had been on his first day at Grimmauld Place and without so many words he had told the three that if they had a problem that didn't involved dark wizards storming the place or the coming of the Apocalypse, to sort it out on their own.

Hermione had wanted to retort that Snape was half right-his robes almost resembled a vicar's and perhaps he'd be able to ward off the flying horsemen, but resisted. It was her attempt at humor but Snape rarely seemed like the type to joke around, and never with his students. Oh yes, he'd laugh at them, but never with them. Hermione still felt some kind of way from the time Snape was dismissive of Draco hexing her teeth. He hadn't actually _laughed_…but it stung nonetheless.

Dinner was nearly finished, and Molly mused aloud the whereabouts of her daughter and adopted son. Not wanting the two to get caught snogging, which was what Hermione was sure they were up to, she volunteered to go find them just as Ron opened his mouth.

Soon after the little group was gathered in the kitchen in the basement, and Hermione felt her mood lighten considerably. All day she felt off kilter as a result of the unconventional exchange between her and Snape. Further adding to her malaise, Hermione was unable to forget the way his hands felt against her throat, the way his breath tickled places on her neck that she didn't know were sensitive. The idea that it was her loathed-no, she definitely didn't loathe him-Potions professor to coerce such a reaction from her body was daunting, to say the least. On top of it, he'd behaved as if she had done something forbidden, and she almost wanted to feel guilty, but couldn't bring herself to.

Hermione wasn't so naïve to think that there was nothing wrong with going to Snape's room in the idle of the night, but he had behaved as if she had some ulterior motive. Coming outright and saying that she just felt like a chat had seemed too silly, as she was in rare form and hadn't actually felt talkative. For some odd reason she just felt like being near him.

For the small space in time where Snape wasn't insulting her, Hermione found that he wasn't bad to be around. She would venture to say that she felt somewhat at ease in his presence, even if he'd unnerved her with the sudden shift in his mood. Hermione knew that she shouldn't have been surprised. The man was mercurial at best, but it was as if he was forcing her to confess to something, and she didn't know what that something was.

* * *

Hermione told herself she was a glutton for punishment. Later that night after she and the boys had told each other goodnight, she found herself doing just what Snape told her not to.

She made it halfway down the hallway when his bedroom door swung open, and the odd-looking barefoot wizard, also odd-looking in just shirtsleeves and black trousers strode forth with a look on his face that could curdle milk. "Back downstairs," he barked, barely glancing at Hermione as he grabbed round the cuff of her arm and directed her to the staircase.

"No!" she protested, attempting to wrench free of his grasp. "Not until you talk to me. Why did you send me away last night?"

Snape let go of Hermione's arm, retreating in the darkened hallway until his back was against the wall. His face betrayed nothing, but on the inside he was beyond irritated. The tenacious girl was giving him a headache, and he wanted nothing more for her to turn around and go back to her room, but suspected that she would badger him until he gave an answer. Speaking of answers, she still hadn't given him one to his own question.

"I asked you what you wanted last night. You still haven't told me, and after I clearly told you to leave me alone, here you stand before me. I'm led to believe that you're daft, incapable of following directions, or perhaps both."

"I didn't want anything!" she adamantly stated. "Well, nothing more than your company…" Hermione trailed off, calling Snape a 'despot' on the tip of her tongue but opting to restrain herself.

"_My company?_" he echoed in disbelief, his black eyes narrowing as if he wasn't sure that he'd heard correctly.

"Yes," Hermione replied, annoyed as she rubbed at her arm where Snape grabbed her.

"And just what is it about my _company _that is making you deliberately insubordinate?"

"And just what is it about my presence that's making you so cross?"

"Stop deflecting, Granger, and answer my damned question." Nostrils flaring, Snape closed the space between him and Hermione, hoping that the fury etched across his face was enough to scare her off. Grabbing her beneath the chin, Snape tilted Hermione's face up, forcing her to meet his direct gaze, and grinding his molars when he was unable to ignore the way her breath faltered.

_Fuck,_ Snape thought, perturbed when he realized that Hermione wasn't frightened in the least. Tempted to touch more of her soft skin, his long fingers moved down to curve around her throat. Hermione's eyes lazily slid shut, at the same time parting her lips and impulsively tilting her head back, subconsciously beckoning him to move lower.

Snape walked forward, backing Hermione against the wall yet making sure that his body never touched hers. In the dim light he was able to see her teeth lightly pressing down into her bottom lip, her now opened brown eyes never leaving his. His thumb brushed lightly against her lip, and Hermione stopped gnawing on it, letting out a soft whimper.

Snape wasn't an idiot or in denial; he knew why he sent Hermione out of his room the night before. Something had clicked in his mind to make her more than just his annoying student to him, and that very thought was unsettling. For starters, she was much too young and too innocent to even deal with the likes of him, or for him to even entertain the thought of doing so. Not to mention the backlash he would receive had anyone found out.

He had a strong suspicion that Hermione was unaware of her own unconventional yet undeniable allure, all of which made him want to push her away even more. On top of that, she was strongly responsive and he'd barely laid a hand on her. Snape had never lusted after any of his students, and he had no intention of doing so now. Yet the young witch in front of him, clearly melting into his touch even though his hand merely rested upon her throat, seemed to have other thoughts.

Snape remained standing with a few inches of space left between them. Hermione was able to feel his shirt and trousers grazing the front of her nightgown, and she fought the urge to brazenly move forward to press against his body. She didn't know where the hell _that_ urge came from, but remembered with perfect clarity the way his breath on her neck the night before had made her want to tremble uncontrollably.

As if he was able to read her thoughts, Snape lowered his head closer to her face, still not touching her, his hands sliding down and the pad of his thumb lightly pressing into the hallowed notch of her throat. Her knees threatened to buckle, and Hermione tried to tell herself just who was evoking the new yet strong sensations in her body, but found that she didn't care.

Could it be-she had a thing for Snape? Severus Snape? Surly Potions master extraordinaire?

The answer was hell yes, if any indication was her willingness to let him do whatever he so wished at that moment.

Her first kiss had been from a neighbor as they hid behind the tree in his parents' garden, the next from Viktor Krum kissing her after the Yule Ball. The first was a peck, the second a mauling, and Hermione wondered how her third would be. However, at the moment both events paled into comparison if she was judging by the way Snape's fingers currently felt against her skin. Hermione thought she would melt into a puddle right there in the hallway, anxiously wondering if Snape was going to kiss her, when he suddenly grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her into his bedroom, practically slamming the door shut and pulling them both down on the little sofa.

"What are you looking for, Granger, some youthful dalliance?" Snape asked darkly, hoping that the young witch would have sense enough to tell him 'no'. If he was being honest with himself, part of him hoped that was just the case, making Hermione tell him 'yes'. It was obvious that he wasn't thinking clearly, but knew it foolish to deny that the girl, barely a woman, had somehow managed to get under his skin.

"Not to be impertinent, but if I wanted to arbitrarily have it off, I could easily get that from Ronald," she managed to get out, still reeling from their contact in the hallway.

"Then why the hell don't you?" Snape was stiffly perched on the sofa, his arms across his chest, a mutinous look on his face as his eyes drilled into hers.

Hermione was brought up short and fell speechless, something that was rare. She most definitely did _not_ want to sleep with Ron, and she wasn't even sure if she wanted to sleep with Snape right then, but the man had did little more than pique her curiosity and she found herself wanting to peel back some of his proverbial layers.

"Because I don't want to! Besides, If Ronald is so intent on trading stories about girls he's kissed with Harry, the next thing he'll be doing is talking about who his best lay was."

"So is that it, then? I'm your safe option?"

"No!" Hermione protested, becoming flustered and embarrassed that she wasn't clearly conveying her thoughts. "I hadn't even meant to start talking about Ron."

"Humour me," Snape continued, unfolding his arms and leaning in closer. "How do you know that I'm not the same as your little friend, that if I were to entertain your _burgeoning _thoughts, I won't take what I want and cast you aside when I'm done?" Hermione was silent at that question, as if she'd never considered that angle. Snape let her muse on it for a moment before sitting back, chuckling darkly under his breath. "As if I'd have the time to dally about with skirt-chasing. You're touted as bright; at least try to live up to the title."

Hermione found herself becoming irritated at what she perceived to be subliminal messages, especially about the part where Snape said what if he was to entertain her. Did that mean he would actually consider spending time with her in a teacher-student capacity?

The messy-haired witch suddenly looked so hopeful that Snape shook his head in disbelief. Either she was truly mad or completely naive. The women that were willing to spend time with him in aims of more baser pursuits had typically been of the more questionable brand, veering on the borderline of raunchy. Although it had been some time since Snape last had the opportunity for doing something that didn't involve leading a double life, the idea that Hermione was sitting next to him, eyeing curiously as if she was considering something, was cause for worry.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like _that_. Every thought that crosses your mind ends up on your face."

"And what does it say now?" Hermione asked, unable to help herself.

"That you're treading on thin ice, veering into a territory that you know nothing about."

"Who's to say that I don't know what I'm doing?"

Snape gave a rarely heard, wry laugh. "For the first time, I'm honestly unable to call you a little know-it-all. Believe me, girl, you don't know what you want, and I know for fact that you have no idea what you're getting into."

Hermione scoffed lightly, shooting Snape a dismissive look. "You behave as if you're some monster lurking about, ready to snatch someone from their bed after they've fallen asleep."

"Some might have you believe, Miss Granger," he replied, although a faint smirk rested upon his lips. "But as far as you're concerned, I am a monster, and you would do well to remember that."

The next thing he knew, Hermione had reached over to him, grabbing his left hand and running her fingertips over his skin. "Look at that; no fur, no scales. And I don't think you've been hiding a tail beneath your teaching robes, unless I'm mistaken."

"If we were in school, you would be punished for your insolence," Snape drawled, remaining completely still as the little witch continued to touch his hand.

"Then you can start a tally," she suggested, moving closer and turning his hand over to trace around the calluses that marred his palm. Hermione didn't know why she was so captivated by Snape's hands; perhaps because they were so rarely exposed.

Snape surprised himself by letting Hermione carry on with her examination. Either she was blithely unaware that she was curled up next to him in her nightgown, or she felt comfortable being in said state of dress. Her hand felt small against his, as if it would break if he gave it the lightest of squeezes.

"Instead of playing with my fingers, shouldn't you be getting back to your own room?" he asked, peering at the top of Hermione's curly head that was bowed over his hand.

"No," she answered as if she had every intention of remaining there on his sofa. "I wanted to see you."

Snape refrained from saying anything else, knowing it would be futile. He continued to let Hermione trace her fingertips across his palm, while contemplating asking her if there was a chance that she had been dropped on her head during infancy. He meant it when he told her she was an odd witch; at the same time he could safely say that she reminded him of no one else. Which was good for her and bad for him.

The next thing he knew, Hermione had let go of his hand and rose to her knees, letting her weight fall against his side. He released a huff of surprise yet made no attempt to push her away, one hand clasped onto her shoulder and the other on the sofa arm. Her nightgown was pulled taut and uncomfortably trapped beneath her, and Hermione had to raise up slightly to tug the material free, holding onto Snape's bicep to steady herself.

Both were silent for a moment, yet Snape felt Hermione's trembling form against his arm. She'd let go of his sleeve, her hand opening and closing as if she wanted to touch him, but was hesitant to do so.

Gryffindor boldness and youthful shyness seemed to clash, as Hermione's fingers tentatively strayed upwards to his shoulder. Gryffindor boldness won, and without warning, Hermione seemed to move with deliberate slowness as her head tilted forward and moved towards his. Snape gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into her shoulder when petal soft lips brushed against his cheek.

_What_ or_ why?_ was on the tip of his tongue when she nuzzled her face against his, but when Hermione's lips strayed a bit closely to his, Snape immediately pulled back, noticing the sudden look of confusion on her face.

Snape didn't kiss. Hell, he didn't allow contact that involved more than straight-forward, unattached sex, which was why he was having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he was allowing Hermione to insinuate herself against him in such an intimate manner.

Surprisingly, Hermione didn't seem put off by his reaction, merely intrigued. To her credit, she didn't even ask what was wrong, she merely slumped to his side, her eyes and fingers focused on the space right above his collar. Snape half expected the girl to scramble away from him, but apparently she was made of tougher stuff and stay put.

Realizing that he didn't want to be kissed, she tentatively let her fingers stroke the side of his neck, as if she was curious to see if he would push her way. When he didn't, the caresses became a bit bolder, her fingers moving to the nape of his neck and sliding through his hair.

Her caresses were free of artifice, and it seemed that her fingers stroking his neck hadn't been an attempt to entice, rather comfort if that was the correct word.

That idea was ludicrous, as it was rare for anyone to go beyond a step of merely being polite to Snape. It was to be expected if one took into account his austere, no-nonsense, and all right, nasty attitude. But even so, it had always seemed that warm hugs or a kind word seemed to be reserved for those that had a brighter outtake on life, and were generally accepted by the masses.

On top of that, Snape knew what he looked like. He knew the things that others said about him, of course, never to his face, but always behind his back. The last person with enough gall to insult him to his face, most often by way of uttering the loathed name of Snivellus was no more, and Snape found that his heart refused to bleed for the Order's loss.

He had suffered his own losses and there had been no one to console him. As far as returning the favor, Snape didn't know how to comfort anyone, nor had he ever tried. The last thing he expected when Hermione moved next to him was to..._cuddle _was an apt word-with him, which she had begun doing, slipping both arms around his thin frame and burrowing closer. Trying to ignore the unruly curls brushing against his lips and nose, Snape loosely rest arm around her shoulders, trying to avoid moving it any lower.

The embrace felt a bit awkward, as if it was a parody of lovers holding one another, but Snape conceded that the feel of an armful of warm Hermione wasn't unpleasant. Yes, her knees were slightly digging into the side of his thighs, and her damnably messy hair refused to cooperate and stay in one place, but at the same time her soft breasts were easily felt through her nightgown and flattened against his arm, her small hands innocently resting on his shoulders.

Admittedly, there was nothing innocent when Snape thought about the fact that it was Hermione Granger practically sitting in his lap, clad only in a thin nightgown and wrapped around him like Devil's Snare.

Snape ground his back teeth once more when Hermione softly exhaled, her warm breath tickling his skin and making the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The temptation to push her away from him was getting harder and harder to resist, especially when she rubbed her soft cheek against his.

"I think it's time for you to return to your room," Snape suddenly told her in a gruff voice, his hand pushing against her shoulder and urging her to get up.

"What...oh, all right," Hermione softly answered, sounding slightly dazed. Snape remained on the sofa as Hermione made her way to the door, his hands tightly curled against his thighs as if he was trying to regain control. Offering a hesitant sounding 'goodbye' to which Snape didn't reply to, Hermione shut the door and slipped off to her room.

* * *

_What the fuck was that?_

Snape had never been one to lose himself at the bottom of a bottle to deal with his problems. For one, spirits made even the staunchest of men lose their heads, and with everything going on in his life, that wasn't an option. One slip up could very well be his very last. He would have the occasional glass of elf-made wine or two, but that was about it. Firewhisky was something that never appealed to him, but at the moment Snape wished that he had an entire vat of Ogden's finest, and if that wasn't possible, copious amounts of cheap liquor would suffice.

Perhaps if he reduced his brain to a state of numbness then he would be able to figure out why Granger had been so willing to remain in a closed, dark room with him, or perhaps why he was so keen to let her. His body most definitely had no objections to her presence, if the previous straining of his cock against the placket of his trousers had something to say.

No, if he drank himself into a stupor, he would try to forget about the past events of that evening. At least that way he might be able to convince himself that there wasn't a special place in hell for him.

* * *

_**Naughtiness is to come, so don't think I'm just stringing you along. Can someone please feed my naughty Muse some cookies or brownies? PRETTY PLEASE?!**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: You know, I've heard that reviews make the pen move faster, or something like that...wow, they weren't lying! So here's another update two days later because you all are AMAZING, and you fed my Muse! Thank you so much! I've lots of biscuits and cakes and brownies and I am positively beside myself and love love love ya :D. Triwizard2013 planted the silly seed for this kitchen scene so THANK YOU because haha! Alright, time for tea.**_

* * *

_Why didn't he want to kiss me_?

_Why did I want to kiss him?_

_Was I REALLY going to kiss Snape? _

Hermione had read books that clearly explained the five stages of grief, but somehow she wondered if Kübler-Ross had somehow skipped out on the five stages of disbelief, because that was what she was clearly stuck in.

She knew better than to protest when Snape told her to go back to her room. It hadn't made a difference; there was no way she would be able to sleep. She had been thrown for an orbital-sized loop when she moved to rest against him, the loop expanding to infinity when he let her remain there.

She hadn't planned on kissing him but when their lips were merely inches apart it only seemed right, on her part at least, because Snape pulled away from her as if a current had been sent through his body.

Had it been anyone else, Hermione suspected that they would have let her kiss them. But Snape wasn't like anyone else, and on the scale of men and their proclivities, she had nothing to compare him to, as the dark wizard seemed to be in a class of his own.

Although...her eyes had noticed the slight tent in his trousers, and it definitely hadn't been his wand...at least not the one that came from Ollivander's. The idea that she'd managed to arouse the wizard daunted yet pleased her, at the same time leaving a prickly, unfulfilled ache between her legs.

Hermione wanted to touch him more but was sure if had attempted to do so, she would have gotten shoved to the floor at the same time being cut to the core by some nasty remark. But Snape didn't look surly in the least bit when she was next to him; he actually had a funny look in his eyes that Hermione was unable to decipher. She, however, did get the distinct impression that he wanted to do more than he was letting onto.

Hermione had_ definitely _thought about doing more than just sitting on Snape's lap, and now knew that it was because of more than just her blossoming curiosity. If she thought that his breath on her neck was good, the feel of actually being pressed against him was even better. Snape didn't have the brawny build of a Quidditch player, but she knew that the man was strong, remembering the way he easily plucked her off the floor in the hallway.

_What was he inclined to do?_ Hermione came up short to her self-imposed musing. For a moment it seemed like he wanted to touch her, and then the flame of opportunity had been doused with the waters of uncertainty. All of which left her with a headache and damp knickers.

"You know, Harry, if it weren't for you and that class, we'd have been in trouble," Ron was saying to Harry, one foot up on the kitchen table as he rocked back in his chair, balancing on the two back legs. "You have to admit, most of our Defence Against the Dark Arts professors were as useless as tits on a bull."

Harry immediately sniggered at the crass comment, and Hermione cut in with a "Charming, Ronald," while shaking her head at him.

It was after supper, and the three were lingering about at the long wooden table at the center of the cavernous kitchen in the basement. There was a low burning fire in the fireplace across the room, and a kettle was being heated up for cocoa. Somehow they'd gotten on the subject of each professor that taught Defence Against the Dark Arts, and it was a unanimous decision that thus far Lupin was their favourite.

"Yeah, but remember when Hermione fancied Lockhart?" Ron brought up, making Harry laugh again and Hermione cringe.

"Oh..._that _idiot!" she blurted out. "The only thing that man was good for was combing his hair and giving out autographs. He knew bugger-all about the Dark Arts; it's a wonder no one got killed."

"Yeah, and can you believe he tried to Obliviate us?" Harry added with disbelief.

"And we know how that turned out!" Ron chortled. "_Oi, look everyone, I'm Fancypants Gilderoy pouf Lockhart, and I don't know who I am. I've forgotten how to comb my perfect hair, might you be able to help me?"_

"Ron!" Hermione giggled, unable to keep a straight face. "That isn't nice!"

"_A damn... I do not give!_" he continued in a mock, pompous voice.

"Ugh, and not to mention those hideous lavender robes!" Harry shuddered. "He reminded me of Uncle Vernon's sister, Aunt Marge, well, the clothes at least. Aunt Marge had more facial hair than Lockhart. Come to think of it, she has more facial hair than you, me, and Lockhart put together. I was tempted to ask if she needed to borrow my blade to get those whiskers off, but she'd have set her ugly arsed, sour breathed dog on me."

Ron nearly toppled out of his chair from laughing so hard, and the front raised legs fell back to the floor with a loud thwack. Hermione was red-faced and gasping for air, weakly clinging to the edge of the table with one hand. Harry was chuckling at his own antics, feeling very much in rare form but enjoying it nonetheless. Ron grasped the edge of the wooden table, precariously pushing back to balance on the hind chair legs again, right as a wide grin spread across his face.

"No!" he exclaimed, the chair dropping again and clattering loudly. "You know I can't stand the git, but remember when Snape knocked Lockhart off his arse? Damn, I didn't see that one coming!" Ron guffawed.

"Lockhart was an idiot," Harry snickered. "Snape looked like the devil himself that day; there's no way in hell I wanted to be on the end of his wand. I had half a mind to yell, 'run, Lockhart, run!' but you couldn't tell the man anything. And now that everything came to pass, I say good for him."

"You two," Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes and walking over to the now boiled kettle. She had volunteered to make their hot cocoa, purely because the last time Ron made it for them all, he used so much sugar that it made Hermione's teeth chatter, and being the daughter of two dentists she was sure they were going to rot away into little stumps on the spot, leaving her to mash every meal into a pulp before eating for the rest of her life. Ron had complained that Hermione didn't use enough sugar when she made the cocoa, but Harry sided with Hermione, and the two made their own before generously pushing the bag of sugar over in Ron's direction.

"Would you like some chocolate with your sugar?" Harry was now asking the redhead, who had added so much to his mug he was surprised the spoon wasn't standing straight up like a flagpole in the middle of the thick, dark liquid.

"You and Hermione like that watery stuff," Ron replied dismissively as he stirred his cocoa, made a face, added more sugar, stirred again, tasted it, and finally set down the spoon.

"You aren't going to have any teeth by the time school begins," Hermione said disapprovingly.

"_Wizard!_" he said as if she should know better. "If they break or fall out, I'll just have Mum regrow some for me. Or Madam Pomfrey."

"Or your mate, Lockhart," Harry cheerfully added.

"Oi! Come off it, Harry!" Ron laughed. "Anyway, you mean Hermione's mate, remember that card he sent her and she kept it under her pillow? What did it say again, Hermione? Pretty Boy Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of Wizards that do bugger-all League and take all the credit?"

"Shut _up_, Ronald!" Hermione screamed, nearly snorting cocoa up her nose and almost dropping her mug. "I'm going to ask Snape to give me lessons in knocking you over like he did to Lockhart if you keep bothering me."

"You already knocked Ron over, remember?" Harry grinned, referring back to their Dumbledore's Army meetings.

Hermione turned back to Ron, grinning brightly at the memory. "Yes, I did knock you over, didn't I?" she cheekily replied, enjoying the way Ron scowled into his mug of muddy looking sugar.

"Hmm, anyway, you never know," Ron continued. "Maybe I was having an off day. Just like Lockhart could have been having an off day when Snape disarmed him. Maybe Snape just got lucky."

Precisely at that moment, the kitchen door banged open and said rarely seen wizard smoothly swept inside, his black eyes glittering as he appraised the three shell-shocked teenagers at the battered wooden table, staring at him as if he was a ghost that had materialised from the ashes in the fireplace. Snape never left his room; in fact, the only one that could truly account for his presence was Hermione, and that was only because she'd been taking his meals to him. The boys hadn't known about her late night walks to Snape's room, and she aimed to keep them ignorant.

"By all means, don't let me interrupt the festivities," he drawled in an oily voice, walking over to the kettle and holding a hand near it to see if it was hot. "It wouldn't do for those delicate minds to have to put forth the arduous efforts of breaking away from a no doubt singularly fixated train of thought."

Ron had nearly yelped when Snape stalked into the kitchen. At the last minute he'd managed to close his mouth, yet his mug had been tilted at a dangerous angle in his hands, and when he jumped from fright, he spilled most of his cocoa onto the table, leaving a large, murky puddle in front of him.

"Ronald!" Hermione shouted, she and Harry both jumping up as the liquid began trailing towards them. Harry found a tea towel and hastily wiped up the spill, while Hermione shifted their mugs and wands to a dry end of the table.

"Oh dear, Mr Weasley," Snape chided, his voice almost a whisper with his back to them as he snidely addressed the redhead wizard. "A bit jumpy, are we?"

Harry's arm paused from mopping up Ron's spill, his green eyes widened behind his glasses as he curiously looked over at Snape's black frock coat covered back, the tall wizard going through the motions of preparing his own cup of tea. Ron had scampered around the table and was standing next to Hermione, both of them also frozen solid by Snape's presence alone.

Curtains of slick black hair flipped around Snape's gaunt, sallow face as he turned to face the three, his lips turned up into his trademark sneer. Standing rigidly in place as if a metal rod had been shoved down the back of his coat, Snape's black eyes immediately slid down to Harry, who was still hovered over the kitchen table. "Well, well, look at that, you even have the Chosen One cleaning up after you. Isn't that grand?"

_Don't say anything, _please_ don't say anything,_ Hermione was mentally willing her best friends. Hermione knew, as she was sure Ron and Harry did as well, that Snape was purposely baiting them. It was as if he could take points from Gryffindor as they weren't at Hogwarts, but from past experiences with the trenchant wizard, it was no secret that he enjoyed being the one to make others writhe with discomfort.

"Pity, Weasley, you've wasted your cocoa," Snape continued in a pseudo-syrupy tone. "The only polite thing to do is offer you a refill." With that Snape set down his own mug on the table, the ceramic tapping loudly against the wood. Reaching across the table with one long arm, he plucked the empty mug from in front of the two close-mouthed teens, his dark eyes trained on Ron's the entire time. Whipping around to the counter, Snape picked up the pot that Hermione had made the hot chocolate in and swiftly refilled the mug, carried it back over to the table and set it down in front of the nervous wizard.

"Do try and be a bit more careful this time; we don't want Potter on his knees anymore than he needs to be."

Collecting his own mug, Snape turned sharply on his heel and glided out of the kitchen.

"Did you see that?! He's trying to poison me, he is!" Ron yelled soon as Snape's oily head disappeared out of view, shoving the mug of cocoa away from him as if it were a ticking time bomb. "I'm not drinking that!"

"Oh, you are so _dramatic!_" Hermione griped, immediately grabbing the sliding mug to keep it from crashing to the floor. More cocoa sloshed over the sides and Harry had to toss her the tea towel to wipe it and her fingers. "Snape wouldn't poison us."

"Like hell he wouldn't!" Ron continued, refusing to be placated. "He was going to poison Neville's toad, remember? And that antidote! How do you know he wouldn't do the same to us?"

Harry looked as if he didn't know whether to be angry at Snape's obvious taunts, or amused at Ron's petulance. Hermione, on the other hand, was pretty sure that Snape had a taste for tea, but an even bigger taste for hectoring with his own brand of sadistic mischief. He could have easily summoned Ron's mug over to him by use of magic...well, perhaps not. The man did abhor _foolish wand-waving_ as he so put it, but the gleam in his onyx eyes clearly stated if only to Hermione that he enjoyed the way Ron recoiled when he rounded on him.

Ron was still carrying on with his bluster, to the point that Hermione was happy they were in the basement, else Mrs Black's portrait would have surely gone berserk at the noise.

"Ron, do shut up!" Hermione interrupted, picking up the mug that Snape had refilled and bringing it to her lips. Harry and Ron both looked at her as if she willingly drinking something vile instead of the innocuous cocoa, and Hermione wondered if Harry also believed that Snape had put something into the cup. "I'll prove it to you," she continued, draining half the now lukewarm cocoa, setting the mug down on the table and wiping her lips.

Ron and Harry continued to look at her as if she had just eaten Dragon dung, their eyes shifting to the mug that she just placed down.

"See? No poison," Hermione announced before covering her mouth to cough. When the coughing continued, she held onto the back of a chair, clamping one hand over her lips, fighting to catch her breath. When it hadn't ceased after a few minutes, Ron looked utterly panicked, especially after Hermione half collapsed to the floor, clutching and grabbing at her throat.

"I TOLD YOU!" He roared, sprinting over to his friend in a stir of panic. "Harry, what are we gonna-!"

Hermione had been weakly hanging onto Ron's hands, her brown eyes panicked and bulging when she was no longer able to go on with the charades, and laughter erupted from her chest and filled the kitchen.

"Oi, you lunatic! That wasn't funny!" Ron exploded, letting go of Hermione and watching as she continued to cling to the kitchen floor, tears leaking from her eyes. Harry was no better, and had to take off his glasses to wipe away the moisture from his face.

"You're so gullible!" Harry guffawed, clapping Ron on his shoulder.

"You two can both piss off!" Ron spat, snatching his wand up and making way for the kitchen door. "And if Snape _really_ poisons you two, then I'll make sure Kreacher finds a nice place to bury your bodies." He then barreled through the swinging kitchen door, making loud, angry footsteps all the way out.

"Don't you wake up that portrait!" Hermione screamed behind him, leaning weakly onto her side.

"Hermione, you know that was wrong," Harry continued to laugh, offering a hand out to her.

"So what!" she gasped, accepting the outstretched hand and letting Harry pull her up. "Snape has his ways but come on, he wouldn't _poison _us, for Merlin's sake! Ron needs to have his head checked out."

"So do you for that stunt! For a second I thought 'oh shit! Hermione's the only one that knows what to do! Now what?'"

"Honestly," Hermione rolled her eyes. "A bezoar, if you must know, and that's if there are any even lying around. Now let's get out of here."

Hermione and Harry cleared away the kitchen, machine gun fits of laughter bursting out in between as they kept thinking of Hermione's prank. Little did they know, prior to Ron leaving the kitchen, there had been another wizard listening in who heard the entire thing, and found himself laughing harder than he could ever remember doing.

* * *

Hermione sat in the bathtub, reflecting back to the silliness of the evening. She didn't know why Ron had been adamant about bringing up Mr Fop himself, Gilderoy Lockhart, as Hermione was a bit embarrassed by that schoolgirl crush, especially considering that he turned out to be no more than an errant fraud.

Still...the sight of him being knocked on his backside by Snape _had_ been pretty funny, although she was more focused on the pretty boy wizard at the time. She and her classmates had all gotten bruised up that day, from what was supposed to be a simple duelling demonstration quickly escalating into mayhem.

Hermione had never given it much thought, but Snape cut an impressive pillar of skill that day, easily disarming Lockhart and most likely using more power than was needed. She suspected that he enjoyed the sight of the shiny, perpetually grinning pouf being knocked on his arse. Greasy hair, crooked teeth, flapping black robes and all, Snape looked forbidding as Mephistopheles yet profound in his own unconventional way.

Laughing for the umpteenth time, Hermione knew that she could never admit to finding humor in the way Ron had scrambled away from Snape in the kitchen. Ron would never forgive her, and Harry would think she'd lost her mind. Perhaps it was the late night visits to his room that did it, but Hermione didn't find Snape as scary as she had previously. Of course, the man still made her nervous to no end, whenever he came within five feet of her a barrage of butterflies flitted about in her stomach. But afraid was something she was not.

_So are you going to admit it before you give yourself a headache? You definitely fancy Snape. You're attracted to him._

_Shut up._

_Better watch out, Granger. First sign that you're going round the twist isn't when you talk to yourself, but when you start responding to yourself._

_Leave me alone._

_Fine. When you learn that denial isn't only a river in Egypt, I'll be right here waiting for you, right next to your hypothalamus, you know, that little knob up here that controls sexual impulses, the very reason you had to change your soaked knickers before going to bed last night._

_What are you, a bloody anatomy text book? Leave me alone!_

When Hermione finally put her self-afflicted inner torment to the side, she got out of the tub, distractedly drying off with a towel and changing her pyjamas, the same soft cotton bottoms and oversized shirt she'd worn the other night.

Hermione was all of a dither as she aimlessly wandered about her bedroom, feeling completely distracted. She kept thinking back to the night before, and why Snape had forced her to leave. In between her less than innocuous thoughts, she kept remembering the way he took the piss at Ron, and she was snorting into her arm.

_Oh, go and see him. You know you want to._

_Didn't I tell you to leave me alone?_

* * *

Snape indeed had been amused by the little display of that evening. He had a hankering for a cup of strongly brewed tea, and surmised that he could have sent for the house-elf, but he detested the surly creature and besides, Snape preferred to collect his own food and drink. Outside of the house-elves at Hogwarts, Hermione had been the only one that he accepted food from ever since he could remember.

Weasley had gone pale when he walked up on him, and Snape gloated on the inside, thoroughly enjoying the anxiety on the boy's face. He didn't give a damn, and it wasn't as if he was going to actually hurt him; Snape was merely having a bit of fun. An outsider would have questioned what he considered fun _fun_, but it proved amusing nonetheless. To top it off, he'd stayed outside of the kitchen and heard Potter and Weasley losing their simple, little minds when Hermione drank the cup of cocoa he poured.

Snape couldn't believe that Weasley truly thought that he was capable of poisoning someone, but then again, people almost always thought the worst of him. Not that he actually blamed them. And if Snape was being honest, he was thinking about doing things that were just as questionable if not pleasurable to the bushy haired, female member of the trio.

_Still vying to meet your horned maker, eh, old boy?_

Just when Snape chastised himself for thinking about the damned girl again, he heard the softest of footsteps on the steps outside of his room, following by a light canter and then a pause. Snape had been reclining on his bed, clad in shirtsleeves and trousers, reading a book by candlelight when he heard the noise. Huffing in annoyance, he placed the book on his nightstand and stealthily walked over to the door, yanking it open to find the short, curly-haired Gryffindor on the other side, twirling her wand nervously in her hand and chewing on her bottom lip.

"Granger," he drawled, predatorily rounding on her, "I'm beginning to believe that you've come to find out what it is you want with me, as you keep popping up at my door in the thick of night."

"Perhaps," she lightly answered, pushing past Snape and boldly walking into his bedroom. Hermione moved to the sofa and curled up, her wide, brown eyes taking in the sparsely placed lit candles on her side of the room. "Was I interrupting you?"

"You always interrupt me," Snape retorted, shutting and locking the door and walking over to her. "But don't pretend as if you mind now, you and I both know that's rubbish. Hermione Granger is going to do what she wants."

Hermione gave a bashful grin, still nervously rolling her wand around between both hands. When Snape got tired of her fidgeting, a blur of long fingers snatched the length of wood out of her grasp, placing it down on the bed next to his.

"Circe's sake, girl, can't you keep still for one minute?" he snarled, his eyes now moving to her bobbing foot. "Why do you insist on wearing those ugly things?" Snape then asked, sneering at the pink fluffy carpet slippers that were attached to the bottom of Hermione's legs, for all the world looking like regurgitated lumps of candy floss.

"Oh, well...they're warm," she mused, looking down at the slippers. "They were a birthday gift from my cousin."

_And is she a blind spinster?_ was on the tip of Snape's tongue, but he relented. "Well, they're hideous, but I expect you're already aware."

"I don't wear them to make a fashion statement!" Hermione laughed. "And besides, who am I to get tarted up for, Kreacher? He's called me more names that I can even fathom ever since I started coming here. Sad that I get most of my attention from a grumpy house-elf."

Hermione was well aware that she was rambling, but she wasn't prepared for Snape to reach one cool hand out, letting it linger along her throat before his long index finger insinuated itself against her lips.

"Miss Granger...do shut up," he told her in a silky whisper, resituating his hand against her face and letting his thumb graze the cupid's bow of her mouth. "I told you, I prefer silence in my room."

Brought up short, Hermione was about to press her lips together until Snape caught the bottom one between his thumb and forefinger, his dark eyes trained on the dimpled pink flesh as he gently squeezed and let it retract.

Snape could never remember a time where he noticed Hermione bothering to paint her face the way many of her peers preferred. He thought cosmetics a bit ridiculous, especially when overdone, and there had been many times he'd sent many of the young women in Slytherin House to scrub their faces clean. If he was being honest, some of them gave the whores that skulked about Knockturn Alley a run for the Galleons they piled the makeup on so thickly. It wasn't as if he'd personally given a damn, but he was sure their mothers wouldn't let them get away with it at home, and he had no intention of letting them do so at school.

Hermione didn't seem to own makeup, much less a comb, but Snape figured that her curls had a mind of its own, as they often stood out and away from her head in every which way direction. His hair was similar yet just the opposite; its texture making it flat and lank against his scalp no matter what he did. Of course, teaching Potions class day in and day out with simmering cauldrons in an enclosed space didn't help its appearance.

The messy haired witch was now eyeing him, most likely curious as to why he was touching her lips. There had been a multitude of occasions that he wanted to seal those lips shut for calling out in class, whether she was called upon or not. Snape knew the girl was brilliant; there was never any doubt about that. Fact remained that other students needed to have a chance to get a word in edgeways, less parents send owls questioning as to why their precious sons and daughters received less than stellar grades.

Now, he was picturing those soft, pink lips doing other things besides reciting things verbatim from the pages of a textbook.

It was apparent that Hermione had ideas of her own, as she suddenly leaned forward, balancing herself with one hand on Snape's chest and pressing her lips to the side of his neck. Snape had been shocked when Hermione moved against him like so the other day, now he welcomed the feel of her obviously unskilled nevertheless tempting lips searching out his flesh.

Hermione straddled Snape again to keep balanced, her body hovering over his as she continued placing butterfly kisses along his collarbone. Snape loosely held onto her hips, his head tilted back on the sofa cushions, exposing a strong jaw line when Hermione's kiss delved up. He hadn't meant to flinch at the contact, but did, and Hermione looked at him from her peripheral, although her lips remained at a safe distance away from his mouth.

Hermione had started out make sure to leave a bit of space between her and Snape, but the further she became enthralled the more her self-consciousness began to slip, and soon her front was firmly pressed against his chest, her hips rocking into his each time she shifted in his lap.

Up until now Hermione had placed hot, open-mouthed kisses along his skin, using merely her lips. In a sudden fit of boldness, her tongue swiped out against his pulse, and Snape trembled against her, his fingers digging into her skin through her shirt. Snape was used to having the upper hand and pried Hermione away from his neck, forcing her to shift her weight to keep from toppling backwards.

The young witch looked almost drunk, her brown eyes heavily-lidded and mouth still gaped open as she stared back at Snape, as if she'd been the one having the curve of her neck titillated instead of him. Her breathing was slightly labored, and he wondered if she had become aroused from the one-sided caresses, even if he was only the recipient.

There was no doubt that Snape felt more than just a glimmer of arousal; he was fully erect, his cock inches away from the juncture of Hermione's thighs. She had scooted back until her behind was balanced on his knees, while keeping her hands palm down on his shoulders. In the backburner of his mind, Snape knew that he should make Hermione get up and send her back to her room, back to wherever the hell she wanted to go in all of Grimmauld Place, so long as she was away from him. But greed made him refuse to do such a thing, especially since she was obviously eager and willing to let him have his way with her.

Hermione continued staring at the professor, a soft gasp hidden behind the curtain of her hair as one hand made its way from her waist and up to her breast to cup it gently through her nightshirt. That gasp became more profound when his thumb found her already stiffened nipple, circling around the taut little bead before gently pinching it.

"Take this off," he said in a low voice, flicking at the hem of her nightshirt and moving his hands to his side. Snape thought he detected a sliver of bashfulness from the witch, but Hermione shifted her weight to free the trapped fabric from beneath her, grabbing the bottom of the shirt and pulling it over her head. She didn't shrink beneath his gaze nor encourage him to touch her, and Snape wondered just what the extent of Hermione's sexual experience was, yet cast the thought aside, remembering that it was she who came to his room.

His eyes dropped to her chest, lingering at what looked like a fresh scar mapped across her ribcage. Now understanding Hermione's hesitance, Snape focused his attentions elsewhere, as the one large, jagged mark bore no resemblance to the many ones marring his sallow skin.

Still, there was no way he was _not_ going to have his feel of her soft, half naked body draped over his. Whether Hermione's skin began prickling from the cool air in the bedroom or from the fingertips that were now grazing the bared curve of her waist, Snape wasn't sure, but when both hands moved to encircle the graceful column of her neck, his slender digits tracing against the softly jutting collarbone, Snape noticed a definite tremor that coursed throughout her upper body.

Hermione easily fell against Snape when his hands moved to the small of her back, urging her forward. That same slick, black hair that had fallen victim to many unkind names was now tantalisingly brushing against her skin. Thin, yet unbelievably soft lips that less than a week ago uttered snide remarks now slowly traced along the tendons in her neck. The tip of Snape's tongue, feeling hotter than any other part of his body, darted out and dragged along the curve that led down to her shoulder.

It was no longer a question of who was trying to seduce who. Hermione let out a soft moan when Snape trailed a path with his tongue up to her ear, lightly biting down on its lobe. The hesitance he once displayed when his arms enfolded her loosely no longer made an appearance, and the slim white sleeve covered limbs were secure around her waist, long fingers splayed out and resting right above Hermione's arse. Enticed by the responsive witch in his arms, Snape gently pushed Hermione further back, wanting to see her breasts again.

The few times that Hermione had given thought to her breasts, she believed them to be a bit on the small side. Yet they were sized enough to give Snape two exact handfuls, and he didn't seem to mind as his long fingers cupped and kneaded the warm, pliable flesh, catching both nipples and teasing them into stiff points with his thumb and forefinger.

An inarticulate cry left Hermione's mouth as warm lips closed down over one nipple. Snape's hands continued manipulating her as his mouth move from left to right, his teeth lightly sinking down into one dark pink nipple, making her yelp slightly before his tongue laved away the pain. That little jolt had shot straight down to the pit of her stomach, bringing back that prickly ache she'd experienced only once before, and Hermione felt the desperate urge to rock against something.

With his previous encounters, Snape had never set much store by foreplay, but the reaction he got from Hermione was a heady thing, and if only to keep her mewling and writhing about on his lap, he decided that he would take as much time as he wanted. The girl definitely appeared to be losing control of her senses. Her head kept falling back, and her fingers were digging into the hollow of his bony shoulders, silently beckoning him to continue moving his mouth against her.

Judging by the way Hermione continued to swivel her hips against his, it was evident that she wanted the more intimate areas of her body to be explored. Snape let one hand glide down her torso, his fingers stopping right at the waistband of her pyjama bottoms. Hermione instantly rocked her hips forward, urging him to keep moving past the elastic, but Snape refused. It was bad enough that he'd gotten her to remove her shirt. But if her pyjama bottoms followed, so would her knickers, followed by his own trousers and pants, and there would be no turning back.

"It's alright, I don't mind," she told him, sounding a bit breathless.

"I know, and that's the part that worries me," Snape muttered thickly, his lips still engaged with her left nipple.

Hermione bit back a moan when Snape slid his thumb under her waistband, brushing against the top of her cotton covered mound. He wouldn't moved any lower, no matter how much her hips bucked against his hand. Only once did he somewhat capitulate, shoving his entire hand between her legs and using the flat side of four fingers to brushed against her thinly covered core. Inhaling sharply when the heel of his palm brushed against her clit, Hermione rocked against the hand cupping her warmth. Just as she was maintaining an awkward yet fruitful rhythm against Snape's hand, he withdrew it and she wanted to scream.

Hermione was going to hex him, plain and simple. _Yeah, sure you will, _she thought frantically, biting down on her lip. She'd never even make it to her wand fast enough, never mind actually successfully casting anything in Snape's direction. But for all that was holy, she was a writhing, excited mess, and the wizard seemed to do more to augment her arousal rather than alleviate it. His touches were enough to bring her right to the edge, and had he continued it wouldn't have taken much for her to go completely over.

Hermione definitely wanted more, but was still a bit too shy to voice her desires, although even that was fast slipping. She had to muster up the nerve just to tell him that it was alright to touch her, and even then Snape had only done so in a half-hearted manner.

Nearly about to topple backwards from thrashing around so much, Hermione found herself being shifted to recline against the sofa arm, Snape moving to half-kneel between her legs.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked, her own harried voice sounding foreign to her ears. Her entire body was flushed and tingling furiously, the cold air in the room no longer an issue to her bare torso. Snape was hovered over her, his arms not touching her, merely using the sofa support himself. She wanted him to continue with his surprisingly tentative exploration of her body, this time without pulling back.

"You need to get dressed and get out before we both make a foolish mistake," he told Hermione in a gravelly voice.

If Hermione hadn't known what sexual frustration was before, she most certainly did now. Her breath was short, her walls were throbbing nearly to the point of being uncomfortable, and she was positive that she was a few steps away from going mad. Snape had thrown her for another one of his unexplainable loops, only this time her blood was racing like a car in gear with a brick placed on the gas pedal.

"So you get me all worked up only to send me away?" she fumed, frowning up at him. Through the dim candlelight she could see that he wasn't focused on her face, rather on some spot just behind the sofa.

"As if this is any easier for me," Snape nearly growled, closing his eyes and thinking about his own painful erection. He was doing his damndest to keep from snatching the oversized cotton bottoms off Hermione's legs, tugging her knickers down and leave them dangling from her ankle, then tossing her legs over his shoulders and plunging into her body.

"If it's any consolation, I was hoping that you'd keep going..." Hermione trailed off, her fingers making their way up to Snape's wrist.

"That thought is hardly what I'd consider to be consoling," the wizard sighed deeply, bowing his head and making his lank black hair cascade forward. "Do you know what it is you're asking of me? Or what would happen if anyone finds out?" He lifted his head and looked down at Hermione, whose want was clearly etched across her face. Untamed curls fanned out on the sofa cushions beneath her head, and her chest was heaving slightly. He was positive that if he placed a hand back over her breast, he'd be able to feel her heart erratically thumping against his palm.

"You act as if I'd tell," Hermione said, her voice laced with desperation as she stroked the inside of his wrist with her fingertips. "I wouldn't do that to you."

Snape exhaled again, seconds later sitting back on his heels and pulling Hermione to sit upright. Her nightshirt was found somewhere on the floor next to the sofa, and he slipped it over her head, allowing Hermione to sort herself out with the armholes.

"I believe you..." Snape admitted, sounding as if it pained him to do so. "which is why you need to go."

"All right," Hermione resignedly told him, although on the inside she was using every swear word she knew, along with a few that sounded made up. She wasn't lying when she said that she wouldn't tell anyone about their late night sessions that thus far had amounted to nothing more than a bit of touching. But it was painfully obvious to her that she now wanted more.

* * *

**_Oh yes and btw, if you all don't mind me asking, but your input is VERY important to me...I mentioned on the epilogue of my other SSHG fic 'Broken Dreams' that I was beginning a novel-length SSHG fic, going from summer before HBP post-DH. What sort of things do you like reading, canon, AU, a mix of both? What else keeps you from being utterly bored when you read long stories, if you do read long stories? If you don't mind I'd love to hear your thoughts!_**


	6. Chapter 6

**_A/N: Did I tell you how great you all are? THANK YOU SO MUCH for the feedback, I really enjoy hearing what others like and that sort of thing, and you all were the greatest for sharing your thoughts and I greatly appreciate it! And again, thank you a million times infinity for the reviews, alerts, favs...they really do feed the Muse and make me bang out these chapters quicker than I usually work. So before I get anymore threats (which I enjoyed hehe!)...here we go!_**

* * *

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Would it be terribly wrong of me to let Ron fall onto the floor?"

Harry snickered, his shoulders shaking against Hermione. The three were huddled together on the largest sofa in the drawing room. Harry had made dinner that night, which consisted of a heaping mound of spaghetti and meatballs. Ron had eaten three helpings, Harry and Hermione only one and a half. When they were done Ron suggested a game of Wizard's Chess for him and Harry, and they traipsed upstairs to the drawing room.

After a rousing game that left Ron soundly cursing at Harry-who had gotten better and won that round-it was obvious that the boys were bored. Hermione had claimed the sofa first, her head buried in a book when Ron came next to her, peeking over her shoulder, asking what she was reading. Hermione knew that Ron definitely had nothing better to do as any other time he would dare to ask that usually avoided question. More for her amusement than anything, Hermione immediately launched into a summary of her book before Ron's brown eyes glazed over.

"Uh, right," he mumbled, as her entire speech sounded like gibberish to his ears.

Ron then turned sideways, draping his long legs over the arm of the sofa and using Hermione's back as a pillow. Hermione heaved a loud sigh, but continued with her reading. Shortly after, Harry took her other side, also dangling his legs over the other end. He'd taken out his wand, flicking it around and making little sparks to entertain himself. The crackling fireplace and the sound of Hermione turning pages filled the room, and it hadn't taken long for Ron to fall asleep. His muscular body had gone lax and he was slumped against Hermione, only for her to shove him off her, allowing his weight to settle on the back of the sofa. His mouth gaped open from the angle, and soon Ron was snoring so loudly that Harry suggested using Spellotape to fasten his lips together, causing Hermione to burst into giggles.

"Or we could levitate him to the floor?" she suggested.

"Nah, too easy. What we need is some pudding or his Mum's pie, and we can hold it under his nose, see if he stirs, and then we he tries to make a grab for it, pull it away really quickly and see if he tries to follow the scent. I bet you ten Galleons that Ron won't even open his eyes, he'll try to follow the scent and stay asleep at the same time."

Hermione laughed hysterically at that idea, and nearly dropped her book. Ron then snorted and snuffled, his snores halting for a second before resuming.

"Harry Potter, you are terrible!" she shrieked, nudging him in the side with her elbow. "But those are Ron's two favourite things-eating and sleeping. I reckon he would try both if not for the risk of choking to death."

"You know, I think you're right about that," Harry chuckled. "But you know, Ron does have the right idea. I'm ready for bed. Though I don't know why he's asleep, it isn't like he was the one standing in the kitchen for hours."

"Well, dinner was wonderful, thank you again," Hermione replied, sliding up between the two and moving off the sofa. Again Ron had moved to lean against her in his sleep, and fell face down on the sofa cushions when he met thin air.

"Whazz-?" he mumbled, his bleary eyes cracking open.

Hermione was standing over him, book clutched to her chest and shaking her head. "Go to bed, Ron."

"Blimey, didn't realize that I'd fallen asleep," he yawned, reaching one hand up to scratch his head.

Hermione used her wand to douse the lamps in the drawing room, and the three walked upstairs, making sure to tread lightly when they passed the curtain-covered portrait on the landing. They told each other goodnight and disappeared into their respective bedrooms.

It had been difficult keeping a straight face in the presence of her best friends. Visions of being half-naked and draped across Snape's lap, while his hands and mouth worked over her breasts kept flooding her mind, and Hermione had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face. It didn't help that her face had gone red whenever she thought about it, to which she would hastily duck her head, allowing her bushy hair to cover her flaming cheeks. The boys hadn't noticed anything, actually, Harry had once and asked if she was alright, but Hermione hastily explained that she had something in her throat, feigning a cough to cover up her actions.

She had been nearly fighting mad when Snape stopped, leaving her sprawled out on the tiny sofa, his body inches away from hers without them physically touching. Never in her young life had she been so aroused, and the sensation was gratifying yet maddening at the same time, because it left her yearning for more.

Becoming aroused again and needing to do something to distract her, Hermione decided to take a quick bath. She had just begun to gather up her toilet kit when she heard a set of solid footsteps outside of her bedroom, followed by the slamming of the bathroom door.

Sighing, Hermione threw everything back on her bed, knowing that the footsteps belonged to Ron, and that he would take his leisurely time to come out. She had almost given up hope when forty minutes later Ron finally made a banging exit out of the bathroom, clomping his way back to the bedroom.

Hermione didn't know why Ron felt the need to walk as if he weighed the amount of three elephants, but ignored it and walked out into the hallway. A muttered snarl was heard somewhere in the distance, and she knew that Kreacher was lurking about in the house, cross about something as usual. Just as she was about to walk into the humid bathroom to turn on the light, Hermione felt the urge to turn around. She nearly yelped when she saw Snape standing at the top of the steps, an unfathomable look in his black eyes, appearing as if he needed to make haste to his bedroom. She hadn't heard him coming up the stairs, and now she began walking over to him, pausing when she noticed a faint, coppery scent lingering in the air.

"You're hurt."

"Well spotted, Miss Granger," he coolly replied. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to retire for the evening."

Hermione held onto the edge of Snape's black traveling cloak before he was able to completely turn away, earning a sneer from the wizard. "Don't be daft, l still smell blood on you...unless it's not yours..." Snape's face remained impassive, and Hermione decided that it was better if she didn't know. "If you're cut, you'll need Dittany on them."

"It won't make a difference, I assure you," he told her dryly, standing perfectly still and staring at the hand that was grasped onto his cloak. Right then a bedroom door was heard creaking open, and Hermione's eyes grew wide as if she was scared of getting caught. Toilet kit in one hand and Snape's cloak still in the other, Hermione tugged him along, surprised when he uprooted his feet and followed behind her into her bedroom.

Hermione hastily shut the door and pulled an armchair from against the wall, ushering Snape to sit down. Taking his time to unfasten his cloak as if there was no pressing issue at hand, Snape finally sat down, his black eyes trained on the young witch. She had bent over to root around her trunk, withdrawing a small, glass bottle with a dropper.

"Um, are you going to leave on your coat?" she asked, looking at the tightly buttoned garment.

"You do know that I can handle this myself?"

"I know. Maybe some other time, then...actually, _no_, I hope that you don't have to go through...whatever it was that you did tonight, but you understand what I mean. I didn't even know that you'd left the house."

Snape merely grunted, although he unfastened his frock coat and slipped out of it, draping it over the back of the armchair. Hermione blanched when she saw the red staining his white linen shirt, but was grateful when Snape unbuttoned it, revealing pink slashes across his pale chest that had obviously been recently healed. Focused solely on the injury, Hermione dripped liberal amounts of the Dittany across his wounds, watching as the scars disappeared. She was amazed that he never flinched once, knowing that Dittany stung like mad when it came in contact with wounds. Hermione then used her wand to siphon as much blood as possible off his white shirt, restoring it back to a somewhat pristine state.

The entire time Hermione worked over him, Snape stared straight ahead, watching her wildly curly-haired head moving around from the corner of his eye. He was surprised she hadn't begun questioning him about the multitude of old scars that were mapped across his skin, but it wasn't as if he planned on volunteering any information concerning them if she did ask.

Now Hermione was going over his hands with her wand, siphoning off the blood and dirt that clung to his knuckles. When she was finished she sat on her bed across from him, setting her wand down by her side.

"Thank you," he offered in a stiff voice.

"You're welcome."

Hermione thought it a bit odd that they were sitting in her bedroom, although the only real difference was that Snape seemed to keep his on the dimmer side, day or night. She kept furtively glancing at him from beneath her fringe, noticing that Snape was pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache.

"Well then," he suddenly announced, smoothly rising from the armchair and collecting his frock coat and traveling cloak. "Goodnight."

"No, wait!" Hermione cried, darting off the bed and rushing over to him. Snape had one hand on the doorknob when she pushed it away, turning the lock into place and standing in front of him. Pausing as if she was unsure of what to do next, Hermione looked up at Snape, finding his dark eyes intently appraising her.

"Miss Granger, I'm in no mood for your antics tonight," he spat, his hands firmly coming down on Hermione's shoulder when she stepped closer to him.

"Goodness, I'm not going to bite you!" she lightly chastised, frowning up at him.

"I won't tell you again, girl-move."

"No," Hermione adamantly replied, standing her ground.

Snape was done with the little witch challenging him. Before she could part her lips to utter another word, Snape neatly stepped over her ugly furry pink slippers that had been left strewn about in the middle of the floor and dragged Hermione over to the bed. He pushed her to lie flat on the mattress and swiftly moved to hover over her, his face inches away from hers. The daft girl didn't appear remotely scared; in fact, she'd worked her arms around his back and was pulling him into her, leaning up to rub her face against his.

Screaming inwardly, Hermione felt her heart pounding as Snape buried his face into her neck, at the same time rushing to push her shirt up and run his roughened hands over her bra. When that wasn't enough he tugged the flimsy cups down, straddling her hips and bending his head low, his teeth lightly biting and his tongue circling around the already erect nipples.

Becoming lost in a dizzying clasp of rapidly mounting arousal, Hermione dug her fingers into Snape's slim back, gathering up a handful of his white shirt while dimly hoping that she wasn't clawing him with her nails. It was glaringly obvious that he'd held back the night before, as he was now going at her breasts with great fervor, each stroke of his tongue sending a jolt of pleasure to meet with the butterflies that fluttered around in the pit of her stomach.

A black cloth-covered erection was now pressing into her belly, and Hermione longed to reach down and grab it. Before she was able to do so, Snape pushed himself up, his hands coming to her waist to unfasten the button and zipper on her jeans, swiftly pulling them and her knickers down off her legs. It dawned on her to feel ridiculous, being naked from the waist down, but Snape didn't seem to mind. He came right back over her, his mouth eagerly reattaching itself to her left breast while his hand pushed her legs apart, his thin fingers firmly digging into her inner thigh.

It was as if the build-up and then steady denial of the past few days had come to a head. Despite Snape's thin build, he was surprisingly heavy and had no difficulty into pinning a half-naked Hermione to her bed. Long fingers and rough palms ran over her legs, thighs, stomach and breasts. Futilely fighting to regain control of her senses, Hermione admitted to herself that perhaps Snape had been right-she didn't know what it was she was asking for.

His hot, open mouth was now moving over her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath her ear. Trying to direct pressure onto her achingly needy clit, Hermione wrapped her legs around Snape's waist, arching her hips up to make him move lower. She wondered if he was obtuse or deliberately thwarting her advances, as his cock remained firmly pressed into her navel, his hands touching everything except where she wanted most.

Snape's tongue unfurled and trailed over her pulse, leaving behind a damp spot that felt cool when air hit it. He then pushed himself upright, shoving both hands beneath Hermione's behind and pulling her closer.

Hermione definitely felt ridiculous now; she was sure her hair was a mess, and her pink and purple stripy shirt was pushed up and bunched beneath her chin, the simple blue cotton bra yanked down beneath the swell of her breasts. On top of that, Snape had her practically splayed wide in his lap, and his onyx eyes were intently focused on her exposed cunt.

Snape had been doing his best to convince himself that he wouldn't get tangled up with the young witch. But the minute he pried her thighs apart and saw the sparse hair covering her delta, barely concealing the flushed, red lips, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

His eyes focused on the bead of moisture that had collected at her entrance, and he longed to press his tongue there to see how she tasted. The girl was having a hard time remaining still, as if his burning gaze alone was enough to arouse her.

It was, in fact. Hermione had never let anyone touch her, forget being stripped and spread to all and sundry. Snape was staring at her in a way that clearly spoke of approval, although his hands had remained on her inner thighs. Countless times his black eyes had cut her down for something or another, but never did Hermione think that her most intimate place would throb as a result of those piercing orbs.

Right when Hermione gave serious consideration to thumping Snape in his lower back with her heel to make him touch her, he curled his forearm around her left thigh and held it in place, while the long fingers on his right hand carded through her curls, lightly tugging on it and separating the lips. There was a fleeting touch on her clit as he continued sliding his fingers through her pubic hair, the slender digits painstakingly moving about to pick apart her tightly clenched folds. The bead of moisture at her entrance had grown, and was now seeping down her cleft, threatening to leave behind a generous wet spot on the duvet.

Hermione's eyes were screwed shut, and she didn't know whether to scream, cry, or shout. Snape had merely run his fingers along her labia and already she was incoherent with need. She had touched herself countless times, but it was nothing compared to the foreign yet delicious feel of Snape's calloused fingers sliding between her folds.

Snape, on the other hand, was half-focused on the mewling, writhing witch draped over him, the other half of his attention on a most persistent erection. He couldn't remember ever being as aroused as he was at the moment, but then again, he'd never been inclined to explore a witch the way he was doing to Hermione. His fingers were becoming slick with her arousal, droplets of the clear, sticky fluid clinging to his fingertips. Whenever he moved closer to her clit, her weeping entrance would clench shut, as if it was silently begging to be filled. Hermione wasn't the only one; Snape felt the damp spot in the inside of his boxers, and it was only growing larger the more he contemplated getting rid of them and his trousers to seek a little relief of his own.

Finally deciding to put the girl out of her misery, Snape let his thumb brush over the bright-red engorged nub at the top of her folds, earning a sharp cry and a forceful upwards jerk of her hips. His groin pulsed at Hermione's strong reaction, at the same time fervently hoping that Frick and Frack down the hall didn't hear her scream.

"You'll have to do better than that, Miss Granger," he warned her in a low voice. Snape hadn't bothered with a Silencing Charm, as he hadn't anticipated this little tryst. As it was, it wouldn't have mattered; while it would have muffled the sound from the boys a few doors down, Potter's nasty little house-elf would still be able to hear.

Hermione kept her eyes closed but nodded, biting down hard on her bottom lip to control herself. Although it was easier said than done; his thumb on her clit had been insubstantial at best, as it wasn't enough to push her over the edge, yet it was enough to cause even more juices to trickle down her tightly clenched buttocks.

Opening her eyes when she felt Snape tap a hand on her thigh to gain her attention, she saw him motion for her to move up by the headboard. Moving into place without protest, Hermione arranged two pillows behind her back, sitting cross-legged as she anxiously waited for his next move.

Snape had climbed off the bed, rolling his white shirtsleeves halfway up his wrists before bending to remove his boots. Once he was done he moved back on the bed, grabbing Hermione's ankles and prying her legs completely apart again before kneeling between them.

Hermione couldn't help it when she began trembling beneath Snape's direct gaze. Peering through the curtains of black hair surround his face, she saw that Snape's dark eyes were roving over her disheveled form as if he was planning on devouring her whole, which wasn't far from the truth. His jaw was set firmly as if he was about to embark on some unpleasant task, but little did Hermione know he convincing himself to not throw her flat on her back again and shove his way into her body, even if he was positive that she would give little protest if he did.

Those wonderfully skilled fingers parted her now drenched folds, the tip of Snape's index finger lightly pressing at her entrance before gliding up to her clit. Hermione's breath caught in her throat at the contact, but when it remained in place, rubbing little circles around the swollen bud, she quickly forgot that Snape told her to keep quiet, earning a sibilant hiss of displeasure from the wizard.

"Sorry!" she told him, once again sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, almost threatening to draw blood. Just when Hermione believed that her body was physically unable to handle more of Snape's caresses, his index and middle finger slowly twisted halfway into her body, whilst the pad of his thumb pressed down on the hood of her clit.

Losing all vestiges of reasoning when he heard that lust-filled cry from the witch, Snape didn't even bother reminding her to keep quiet. The only thing he could focus on was getting his trousers and pants down, awkwardly doing so with his free hand until his erect cock joyfully bounced out of its fitted cotton and wool confines. In a flash Snape grabbed Hermione's hand and placed it upon him, urging her to grasp him tightly and drag her hand along his length.

Hermione was in disbelief that Snape had actually pulled his trousers down to this thighs, resulting in his cock on her hands. She desperately wanted to see him, take her time to examine and touch him, but it was obvious that the wizard was in no mood for tentative caresses. Working her fist over the thick, heavy length, Hermione ran her thumb over the ruddy tip of his cock, feeling the slippery fluid growing abundant and making a slow trail down the back of her hand.

Becoming lost in his moist, heavy breathing against her neck, and the way his hips were forcefully thrusting forward, Hermione nearly forgot that Snape's fingers were embedded at her entrance until he twisted both inside her body up to the hilt, causing her to flinch and inhale sharply.

Silently swearing at the almost too intense, uncomfortable sensation, Hermione realized that Snape was waiting for her to relax before he went on. His thumb resumed circling over her clit, soon coupled with the slow thrusting of his fingers. The two, slender digits moved smoothly inside and over her, keeping the tempo steady but inexorable.

_Oh god, oh shit!_ Hermione thought frantically, as those long fingers began curling inside her, sending forceful shocks of pleasure throughout her entire body, causing her insides to knot up and melt at the same time.

Judging by her hot, tight walls that pulsated and clamped down on his fingers, Snape was positive that Hermione was on the brink of going over. Rotating his wrist a bit, he aimed his fingertips at the spongy patch of tissues inches away from her entrance. That little move sent her reeling, and he rushed to grab Hermione by the hair and pressed her face into his chest to smother her outcry.

Her hand never stopped moving over his cock, and Snape was almost at a point where he didn't give a damn who heard them, because there was nothing that would make him stop. Hermione now had her free arm around him, her small fingers digging into his shoulders and her face buried in his neck, doing her best to put a lid on her moans. The muffled cries were only spurring Snape on, and he moved his hand a bit faster, growing frenzied with the need for Hermione to come all over his fingers.

Seconds later her ragged breathing turned into a broken sob, followed by a piercing cry as her walls drew tighter and tighter until breaking into a fervent pulsing. The feel of his palm becoming coated with her juices and the muffled scream into his neck was enough to make the last vestiges of Snape's control dissolve, and he let out a deep groan as his body went rigid against Hermione's, his cock throbbing in her hand as he furiously spurted his release all over her partially-clothed chest.

Hermione had nearly gone crossed-eyed from climaxing so hard. She kept telling herself to be quiet, to not make any noise, but it had been difficult. Then she was a bit mortified yet aroused by the sound of Snape's fingers delving into her sopping flesh, each thrust yielding a wet, sucking noise. When the pleasure culminated to a point where she no longer cared about the embarrassing sound, Hermione lost control of her body, shortly after Snape groaning into her hair, his hips sharply lurching against her before spilling himself on her shirt.

Their labored breathing filled the room, both staying glued to one another until Snape pulled back, slowly withdrawing his fingers from Hermione's tight and continuously throbbing channel. Hermione's hand fell away from his shrinking cock, and she wanted to feel bereft for not getting a good look at it, but was too weighed down with a sudden wash of lassitude to give it any more worry.

Hermione fell to her side and unleashed a wide yawn, now feeling incredibly sleepy. She wanted to curl up and bury herself beneath the duvet until she remembered that her shirt was covered in Snape's spunk. Cracking one eye open, she saw that he was still next to her, looking as if he was trying to regain his bearings. Silently, Snape rose from the bed, his back to her as he righted his pants and trousers up on his waist. He then stepped back into his boots before retrieving his wand from the folds of his jacket, turning to Hermione and urging her to lie flat to allow him to remove the traces of their evening from her shirt.

Hermione parted her lips to speak but held back, not knowing what she was supposed to say. Anything she uttered would most likely sound contrived, she reasoned. Snape seemed to have the same problem but remained impassive. Waiting nervously to see what he was going to say to her, Hermione felt relieved when Snape reached out to her, cupping one hand over her neck and gently brushing his thumb across her skin.

"Go to sleep," he finally told the wide-eyed, dazed looking witch, pulling his hand back and moving to the armchair to collect the rest of his clothing.

"All right," Hermione replied, settling beneath the duvet as she continued watching him moving next to her bed. Snape then used his wand to douse the lamps in her room, giving Hermione a lingering stare through the dim lighting as he made his way to the door, before pulling it open and slipping out into the darkened hallway.

* * *

Hermione lazily cracked an eye, finding sunlight pouring in through the tatty velvet curtains draped around her window across the room. Languidly sliding her legs around in the sheets, she realized that she'd gone to bed with her striped shirt on, sans pyjama bottoms...or knickers.

Memories of the previous night came flooding through her mind and she felt her cheeks burning, burying her head into the pillows as if she wasn't alone. She remembered just how she had clung to Snape, crying out into his chest as he fingered her to an impressive orgasm. With perfect clarity, Hermione also recalled how she also brought Snape to climax, him groaning into her neck and shooting all over her chest.

_Damn._

The thought alone was making her aroused all over again. Turning over onto her stomach, Hermione slid both hands down between her legs, fervently pressing her fingers into her clit, but it wasn't the same, nor did it quell the ache that had taken root.

Having an idea of how Snape's mind worked, Hermione hoped that he wasn't self-flagellating himself. She certainly hadn't expected him to go at her the way he did, but once she was pushed down on the bed with his weight sinfully pressed into hers, asking him to stop never once crossed her mind.

_Damn, damn, damn!_

Hermione knew she had to get up. Typically she was out of bed before Ron and Harry, and she didn't want them to come knocking on her door. Stretching out beneath the sheets one last time, enjoying the feel of the smooth material caressing her bare backside, Hermione wondered what it would be like to be completely naked and tangled in the sheets, with an equally naked Snape next to her. Or on top of her, whichever worked.

* * *

While Hermione had been able to fall asleep with minimal ease the night before, Snape continued to replay the end of his evening back in his mind. After going through yet another hellish order at the hand of the Dark Lord, Snape had left the gathering with haste, expediently healing the cuts on his chest and wanting nothing more than to retreat to his quiet room.

He hadn't expected for Hermione to still be awake, much less run into her on the way upstairs. Of course, the pushy girl had insisted on helping with his injuries. At that point, Snape was sort of pissed at her, partly because he wanted to be left alone, and also because she was so damned tempting, and thoughts of her perched in his lap with her soft bottom rubbing into his erection was still fresh on his mind.

Snape hoped that Hermione would display even a trickle of common sense, and not allow him to remain in her bedroom with her, but like always, that had been asking for too much.

He never smelled perfume or overly scented products in her hair; Hermione had a fresh, clean scent that also lingered on her skin, once that he had become accustomed to. Her very essence had rubbed off on his shirt and anything else she touched, and he kept catching whiffs of it whenever she left his bedroom. The scent of her sweet, musky release on his hand was another story. Hermione had been too deep into a stupor to notice the wizard licking his fingers after he'd pulled them from her body, and he had to fight the urge to bury his face between her legs.

Snape was surprised that Hermione let him get as far as she did, and was tempted to push the envelope to see what else he could get away with. But after looking down into her slumberous face, he decided to leave further explorations for another day.

He hadn't known what to say to her, but it seemed as if it wouldn't have made a difference, as Hermione looked to be on the verge of passing out. So off he'd gone to his room, attempting to sleep while trying to ignore the lingering scent of Hermione on his skin.

* * *

**_*evil laughter* warning, if you send me e-spankings, I just might like it._**


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: When you give me ideas, THIS is the sort of thing that happens. But I got a good laugh, so thank you! And THANK YOU SO MUCH for the reviews, alerts, favorites, you have no idea how they help the ideas to keep rolling and feed my Muse. Thank you thank you! By all means, I hope you continue to enjoy!**_

* * *

Mr and Mrs Weasley had popped in at Grimmauld Place that very morning when Hermione wanted nothing more than a lie-in. She had hurriedly showered, dressed, and ran downstairs to find the harried looking redheaded matriarch moving about in the kitchen. Mr Weasley had then kissed his wife goodbye, saying that he would return to collect her and Ginny later that afternoon.

It was bad enough that she kept replaying the events of the previous night over in her mind, and Hermione was still somewhat shell-shocked when she remembered just who it was that she lay pinned beneath on her bed, all the while moaning and writhing about. As many times that he had made her want to flee his dungeon classrooms after berating her and taking an obscene amout of points away from Gryffindor, never would she have imagined that Severus Snape would have her half naked and clinging to him as he fingered her to a climax so strong that it came close to rendering her senseless.

Of course, Hermione had been unable to dwell on their encounter for long, as shortly after she'd gone down to the kitchen, Ron, Harry, and Ginny also appeared, and Mrs Weasley began bustling about and handing out orders. Ron had grumbled that he liked Grimmauld Place a bit better when he wasn't being ordered around like a house-elf, to which Harry snickered as Hermione threw him an offended glare.

After the group downed a large breakfast, the maternal witch seemed to pick rooms at random for the four to clean, and it was at that point that Ron really became snappish.

"Mum must be going mad," he fussed as he dipped a dingy white but clean rag from a pile that had been brought in by snarling Kreacher, into a bucket of warm, soapy water and began to tackle the slightly dusty windows in the drawing room. "It's not that dirty in here, and besides, isn't this Kreacher's job?"

Hermione had been so distracted that she forgot to chastise Ron for his insensitive comment. She had been given the task of dusting the mantle and the small, ugly tables that were cluttered throughout the large space. Ginny and Harry had been sent off to tidy another room, and Hermione fought back a laugh when Ginny made a face behind her Mum's back as they were ushered off in the opposite direction.

Intent on ridding every surface free of dirt, Hermione continued on, nearly hacking up a lung when she dislodged one particularly large clump of dust. Ron continued to drone on with his whinging until Hermione threatened to spell his lips together if he didn't be quiet.

"I'm serious, Hermione," he told her. "I know I said I was bored; I was almost bored enough to wish that your evil cat was here. At least Crookshanks is mildly entertaining, but this is ridiculous!"

"Oh, hush, Ron!" Hermione fussed. She too, missed her cat, but she had to leave him back with her parents. "Didn't you see how nervous your Mum looked? Clearly something's upset her, and she doesn't want us to know so she's made us clean to distract us." Heaving a sigh, Hermione moved onto the next table.

Mrs Weasley had indeed appeared agitated, and when Ron tried to ask over breakfast what was the matter, she briskly told him 'nothing' and to eat his eggs. Hermione, on the other hand, wasn't blind, but resolved to get her hands on a copy of the Daily Prophet if anyone else came into the house.

Mrs Weasley was adamant that after the little debacle in Diagon Alley, she didn't want the kids to worry about anything else that was going on outside of Grimmauld Place. Hermione knew that she had their best interests at heart, but inside she was seething for being treated like a dim-witted child. Harry had silently voiced his annoyance to her once when they were alone, making sure that he was out of Ron's earshot, as he didn't want to get into a row with his best friend over being upset with his Mum.

But there was no mistake about it; being cut off from everyone else and getting the barest scraps of news was frustrating for them all.

Hermione was still working clumps of dust out of her tangled curls when Mrs Weasley came into the drawing room to tell her and Ron to come down to the kitchen for lunch. They had worked so hard, the two didn't realize that it was just after noon. Ron all but threw his dirty, sodden rag down, hitting the bucket of water with a loud plop, and hightailed it out of the drawing room before Hermione was able to even move from her position on the floor.

The two joined a disgruntled looking Ginny and a somewhat calm looking Harry at the kitchen table. Over a lunch of sandwiches and juice, Mrs Weasley picked over her own meal as she finally told the four that they wouldn't be able to go to Diagon Alley to pick up their school supplies, that there had been more attacks and it wasn't safe for them to venture out, even if they were escorted by Aurors.

_No wonder she's been so twitchy,_ Hermione thought, biting into her roast beef even though she felt her appetite vanish suddenly.

"Does anyone know why, Mrs Weasley?" Harry asked, staring directly at the redheaded matriarch.

"Not exactly, dear," she replied in a frazzled sounding voice. "They're still trying to work that out. But I don't want you all to worry, especially you, Harry. Now then, everyone ready for pudding?"

Hermione wanted to press Mrs Weasley for more details, but it was obvious that the older witch was putting on a cheery facade, merely to placate them all. Ron didn't care about being pushy, he insisted that he wanted to know more about what was going on in the Wizarding world, nagging his mother until she threatened to take away the plate she had just set in front of him that was half covered with two large slices of pie. Thankfully, Mr Weasley strode into the kitchen that very moment, somewhat diffusing the tension that had settled over everyone.

Cheerfully sitting down next to his daughter, Mr Weasley smiled as his wife set down his own plate of lunch, the older witch glaring daggers at her son to not bother his father while he ate. Ron waited until his mother was off doing something else before asking his Dad in a hushed tone just what it was that happened in Diagon Alley.

Mr Weasley peeked over his shoulder to see where his wife was, making sure that she wasn't listening, before briefly telling the four that Death Eaters had stormed the area, and that a handful of shop owners had gone missing, but that was all the Aurors knew as of then. When Mrs Weasley's footsteps carried back over to the table, he switched to a louder voice, going through the whole rigmarole of explaining that their school supplies would be sent directly to Grimmauld Place, right before the start of the new school term.

Seeing as how he would no longer be able to badger his father for more information, Ron dropped the issue. Hermione sensed that Harry was now itching to pull Ginny off for a bit of alone time, and urged him with her eyes to go on, that she would distract Ron and their parents. Harry thanked Mrs Weasley for fixing them lunch before leaving the table, Ginny soon following behind. Ron tried to trail behind them out of the kitchen, but Hermione was quick on the uptake and made him stay down with her and his parents.

The displeasure in Ron's brown eyes was evident, yet Hermione met it back with her own fierce glare that clearly stated that she didn't care if he was cross, that he had better stay put. She wanted to laugh when he grew sulky, and kicked him lightly beneath the table.

"How is Professor Lupin feeling?" Hermione inquired, neatly dodging another one of Ron's almost perfectly aimed kicks.

"Oh, he's on the mend," Mr Weasley told her warmly. "Tonks is lending him a hand and says that he'll be alright. I'll tell him that you said hello."

"Please do, thanks," she replied.

Ron then began talking to Mr Weasley, and Hermione engaged Mrs Weasley with a bit of pointless chatter, yet was scarcely able to focus on the topic at hand. Hermione was torn between trying to keep Mrs Weasley as well as Ron occupied. On top of that, she kept worrying about the events that led to her having to stay at Grimmauld Place, which led right to thinking about Snape, and it was all she could do to keep a straight face while sitting directly across from the older witch.

The last thing she wanted to think about was Snape's hand roving about between her legs while staring at Mrs Weasley. Hermione didn't even want to fathom what the consequences would entail if she found out about the two. Not that there was much she could do-Hermione was already seventeen. But Snape was still her professor come September, and she as well as her friends would still be beneath his tutelage. Hermione was sure that a professor being intimate with his student wasn't something to be taken lightly, but it wasn't as if she planned on letting anyone know. She fully intended on taking that little secret to her grave.

* * *

A few hours later, Ginny and her parents had finally left Grimmauld Place. Harry was moping around, clearly missing his girlfriend, while Ron took it upon himself to attempt to entertain him and Hermione with silly antics. Ten minutes into his repertoire, Ron's brown eyes lit up, and he slyly looked over at Harry who clearly translated the unspoken exchange, and the two darted off, leaving Hermione behind in the drawing room.

Five minutes later, the boys returned, Ron bearing a half-full bottle of Ogden's Old firewhisky. The bottle was covered in dust except for where Ron's fingers had grabbed hold of the neck, leaving behind clean traces of glass.

"Where did you get that from?" Hermione asked in an accusing tone, her nostrils flaring.

"Harry found it!" Ron grinned, holding up the bottle. "He and Ginny found it when they were cleaning an old closest. Who knows what it was doing in there."

"There was a load of rubbish in there, to be honest," Harry said. "Didn't expect to find a hidden stash of alcohol."

Hermione had been daintily perched in an armchair with a book in hand, and practically threw it down as she scooted to the edge of the seat cushion. "You mean there's more?!"

"Yup!" Ron replied happily. "Loads more. Even butterbeer; we've brought you down a bottle," he continued, shifting the firewhisky to his other hand and fishing an equally dusty bottle of butterbeer out of his pocket. "We didn't think you'd want firewhisky."

Hermione wanted to get defensive and ask just what did he mean by that statement, if perhaps he assumed she wouldn't want the particularly strong spirit because she was a girl, but declined. She had tasted firewhisky once, at one of his older brother's behest at one of the Weasleys' Christmas gatherings at the Burrow, and decided that it was too strong for her liking. Butterbeer, on the other hand, was mild and pleasant enough to satisfy her sweet tooth, and she grudgingly accepted the sorely missed treat from a still grinning Ron.

"There you go, drink up!" he coaxed, popping open the firewhisky as Harry found them two glasses. "You know, Bill and Charlie let me taste some when I was twelve," Ron prattled on as he poured a hefty amount of the deep amber liquid into both glasses. "Then I snuck the rest of Charlie's when he wasn't looking. Nearly puked all over Percy's shoes until Dad carried me to my bedroom; said he didn't want Mum to see me."

A knot of anxiety began forming in Hermione's stomach. She knew that she was the proverbial worrywart, and wondered if the firewhisky was safe to drink seeing as it had been lingering in a dark closet for who knew how long. But before she could even tell Ron and Harry to wait a minute, they had already tossed back the fiery liquid.

Ron loudly used a word that would have made his mother box his ears, especially since he was in the presence of a female, while Harry's face went beet-red, puffs of smoke literally pouring out of his ears.

"Blimey, I forgot how hot that is!" he rasped, collapsing to one knee and slapping a hand down on the floor.

"Another?" Ron suggested hoarsely, fanning his also bright-red face with one hand.

"Sure, why not," Harry croaked once he was able to speak again.

Meanwhile, Hermione sat scrunched up in her armchair, sipping on her butterbeer and wondering what kind of bedlam was going to unfold. Reading was no longer possible, as with each drink Ron and Harry became louder and more animated, until they were both sweating and pulling their shirts off, tossing them to the floor and remaining in their vests. Ron's face remained flush, and his entire head looked as if it were on fire, Harry's looking no better.

Hermione continued folding herself into a tight little ball on the armchair, trying to keep her head and limbs out of the line of fire. She knew that Ron and Harry had to be extremely bored as their behavior was soon bordering on recklessness. By their fourth shot of firewhisky, the two had devised an inane, nameless game that consisted hopping from sofa to chair, as well as any other piece of furniture that would hold their weight, deeming whoever fell or touched the floor first to be the loser. At one point, Ron had forgotten that Hermione was still in the armchair and he came close to landing in her lap, enfolding her in a tangle of long, clammy arms and sweaty armpits.

"_Ron!_" she shrieked with indignation, slapping at his shoulders, back, and wherever else she could reach."Get the hell off of me!"

"Oh, sorry Hermione," he slurred, attempting to clumsily heave himself off her lap. "Damn, I think I've lost that one!" he told Harry before bursting into raucous laughter. Harry had doubled over when Ron landed in a heap on Hermione, only for her to assault him with her little hands.

Ron was taking too long to move off of Hermione and she roughly shoved him away from her, making the redhead collapse at her feet in a drunkenly laughing heap. He turned to peer up at Hermione, becoming even more hysterical when he saw her features pinched up into a tight, disapproving frown.

"I think you and Harry have had enough."

"Oh, bloody hell Hermione, don't start on that!" Ron howled, stretching out on his back, his arms and legs splayed out on the carpet. "We're bored out of our skulls; are you really going to take our only source of entertainment right now?"

"Yes, before you both kill yourselves by cracking your heads open on an end table!" With that, Hermione got up and tried to walk over to the table where the remaining firewhisky had been placed, only for Ron to soundly throw himself onto his belly and wrap both of his brawny arms around her legs. "What the-Ron, let go!"

_"No!"_ he vehemently shouted, furiously shaking his head like a dog that had been wetted and trying to rid its fur of moisture, making his flaming red hair, which now incidentally resembled Harry's messy mop, brush against her legs. "Harry, don't let her take our Ogden's! Don't let her take it, Harry!"

Harry's green eyes had been heavily-lidded, only opening marginally when he heard Ron screaming in dulcet tones to him from across the room. Stumbling over to the table, Harry picked up the bottle with two fingers, swaying precariously until Ron shouted at him again.

"You clod! Hold it with both hands before it falls! Hold it like a Snitch!"

Hermione would have broken into her own peals of laughter had she not been so utterly irritated at the moment. Never in her life would she have thought that her best friends would become two raving lunatics under the influence of alcohol, but here they were, and they were both completely off their rockers.

Sure enough, Harry held the glass bottle of Old Ogden's as if he was carrying his first winning golden Snitch, holding it with all the gentleness one would use to carry a handful of eggs.

"No! Don't come this way, go the other way!" Ron continued to yell when Harry began walking in his direction, his long arms still firmly wrapped around Hermione's ankles. Hermione had tried to walk out of Ron's embrace, merely shuffling her feet about yet getting nowhere.

"Ron, don't make me have to hurt you," Hermione growled under her breath, huffing and puffing as she looked down at him.

Ron huffed slightly as he shifted his weight to his side, craning his neck to blearily peer up at a mutinous looking Hermione. "Blimey, you look angry. D'you promise you won't vanish our firewhisky?"

"_Ronald..."_

"No! Promise first!"

"Fine, I promise!" Hermione snapped, trying to kick her feet out once more. "Now get the hell off my feet. But when you and Harry wake up tomorrow with headaches so strong that you'll be begging to walk off the roof of this house, don't come running to me! And you'd better not wake me up either!"

"All right!" Ron happily consented, unwrapping his gangly arms from around his best friend's ankles. "'K, Harry, whaddya wanna do now?"

A pensive look came over Harry's face, although because of the firewhisky he appeared more sleepy than anything. "Dunno, you choose something."

"Hmm," Ron hummed, now sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the armchair, looking like an oversized, beaming toddler that had been given a sweetie. Hermione was sat back down, her legs crossed at the ankle when Ron began swaying backwards, leaning over and using her shins as a backrest until Hermione thumped him in the spine with her toe. "I know!" he cried, oblivious to the firm kick he'd just received. Ron clumsily pulled himself upright, stumbling over to the mantle and yanking his wand down. "Let's duel! But no serious spells, only harmless ones, like tickling jinxes and so forth."

_Damn! I should have hidden their wands! _Hermione thought.

"Absolutely not!" she exploded, jumping up and trying to snatch Ron's wand out of his hand. "You two are _not_ to use your wands whilst being drunk! Are you _insane?_ Do you _want_ to hex off body parts at random?"

"Relax, Hermione," Ron said in a tone that he believed to sound soothing. Patting her curly head with one clumsy, weighted down hand, he only succeeded in further annoying her, all the while holding his wand high above his head and out of her reach. "We won't hex off anything, and besides, I've watched my brothers do this a million times."

"And I'm sure Mrs Weasley had plenty to say about that!"

"Don't be silly; of course Mum didn't know about it."

By then Harry had cautiously made his way over to the two, and was gently trying to steer Hermione back to her armchair. "You worry too much, Hermione," Harry said in an equally placating tone. "Now sit down and watch us. Let's see if we remember the proper duelling stances from watching Snape put Lockhart on his arse."

Ron busied himself by moving all of the furniture out of the way, making sure to put Hermione's armchair at a safe distance. He hadn't waited for her to move, and relocated it with her still sitting down, and she soundly berated him, while clutching onto the rolled fabric arms to keep from tipping forward.

When she was finally stationary, Hermione shook her head, resisting the urge to completely dive behind her armchair. She kept telling herself that Ron and Harry were breaking she didn't know how many rules, but hoped that they wouldn't seriously injure themselves. She felt responsible for the two, knowing that she was the one that most often was the high-pitched voice of reason.

Although it seemed as if Harry and Ron had both gone deaf, as she could have been the voice of Merlin risen from the dead, ready to pour out the secrets of the mystique and how to become wealthy overnight, and it still wouldn't have made a difference. Ron and Harry were completely pissed, and every time one of them stumbled, it set the other off into a fit of hysterical giggles, and Hermione hoped that their voices wouldn't carry to Mrs Black's portrait, never mind Snape. She didn't know what he would have done had he found the two, wands in hand with the nearly empty bottle of firewhisky nearby, and she was loathe to think about it.

"Alright then, on the count of three, one...two...three!" Ron cried out, brandishing his wand at Harry and shooting bright white sparks in his direction, sending the messy-haired wizard flying backwards. Harry immediately fell to the floor with a loud thump, and it looked as if he was gagging for a minute until Hermione realized that he was laughing from a Tickling Charm. Hauling himself up, Harry retaliated, firing a Jelly-Legs Jinx back at Ron, making him wobble for a minute before falling to the floor.

More spells were fired-a Trip Jinx, a Leg-Locker Curse, a Sponge-Knees Curse, and a Jelly-Fingers Curse, until both wizards were in crumpled, uncontrollably laughing immovable heaps on the dusty floor of the drawing room. Somehow the two had managed to fire the Jelly-Fingers Curse simultaneously at one another, and their wands had rolled out of their fingers which now resembled the composition of a bowl of limp noodles.

Hermione had half a mind to leave them both in their incapacitated states until the hexes wore off, but resigned to yanking out her own wand and used the counter-curse to fix their fingers. Snatching up her book, she then stepped over the laughing lumps of her best friends and made her way out into the hallway, unceremoniously plopping down on the second step. The wall was blocking her view from behind the banister, but she could still hear what was going on, and told herself that was good enough.

Two minutes into her book, deep male screams erupted from the drawing room, and finally managed to set off Mrs Black's portrait. Harry and Ron were so into their shenanigans that they didn't notice the caterwauling, and Hermione muttered a rarely used swear under her breath as she dashed up the steps. Wishing that she had cotton to stuff her ears, she tried to wrench the tatty curtains back over the shrieking portrait. Kreacher appeared out of nowhere and was by her knee, hurling insults at Hermione in between assuaging his mistress, and she became extremely short with the house-elf, on the verge of telling him where he could stick his scornful remarks when she felt a large hand tugging her out of the way.

Whirling around, Hermione found Snape behind her, who was able to silence the portrait without so much as raising his tone or wand. He then glared down at Kreacher, who sneered back up at the wizard but skulked away, most likely to go back to one of his dirty hidey holes.

Snape stared at Hermione for a second before sweeping past her and striding down the stairs, treading lightly all the way down, his footsteps barely making any sound on the rickety wooden boards.

_Oh, damn! We're in for it now!_ she thought frantically. _He's going to tell on us and we'll all be in trouble!_

Hermione was still thinking of every possible scenario that was sure to come about as a result of Snape telling Mrs Weasley about how the darling Golden Trio had gotten into a hidden liquor stash, only to toss all common sense out of the window and carry on like a bunch of idiots. So she was surprised when she plucked up the nerve to creep down the steps and found Snape merely lurking behind in the shadows, clearly taking in the sight of a drunken Harry and Ron still throwing hexes and jinxes at one another. He watched the boys for a moment, both of whom never noticed his unobtrusive presence, before turning back around and walking upstairs.

"Miss Granger," he began in a cold voice, "what the hell is the meaning of all this?"

"Err, well you see, Ron and Harry were bored, and then Harry found a bottle of firewhisky from when he cleaned the house earlier, and I tried to tell them not to, and then they started duelling each other and-_but_ _they're idiots! _They wouldn't listen to me! And now we're going to get into trouble and most likely have our wands taken away for being irresponsible!"

Hermione had clutched one hand onto the banister and was steadily working herself up into a state of panic until Snape impatiently shushed her by pressing one long finger against her lips.

"If you don't mind, I've had enough mindless banter for one day-a lifetime, if you will. There's no need for you to add to it."

Hermione remained silent even after Snape withdrew his hand. "Sorry," she murmured, her lips tingling from where his finger had touched. "I just don't want them to kill one another, even though they aren't casting anything that's all that dangerous, but still..."

"No, not by the sound of it. Although judging by the empty bottle of Ogden's, your little friends are going to wish for a quick, painless death come morning."

"I told them that as well. " Hermione chuckled, sounding a bit smug. " It's not as if I keep a cauldron and an apothecary of supplies lying next to the knickers in my trunk. All I have is that bottle of Dittany, plus some paracetamol and some Muggle plasters. Hmm, I should hide the paracetamol, teach them a lesson. Anyway, they're going to do what they want, no matter what I say. But I told them if they so much as wake me up in the morning, that I'm going to neuter them."

Snape said nothing, but continued to look down at Hermione, his expression most recondite. Without uttering another word he turned away from her and made his way back upstairs, heading in the direction of his room. Hermione found herself puzzled but trailed behind him anyway, pleased when he didn't tell her to go away. They had just made it to the doorway of his bedroom when Snape halted.

"How much did you drink tonight?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me. The last thing I need is for you to come up here after overindulging. I'm not that far gone that I would willingly choose to keep company with an inebriated child."

"I only had one butterbeer, and that was an hour before my idiot best friends decided to maul one another with magic," Hermione assured. "You can smell my breath if you don't believe me," she continued, moving closer to Snape.

Parting her lips, she stood up on tiptoe and had to steady herself by holding onto his shoulders, a feat made slightly difficult as she was still holding onto her book and wand. Snape barely moved his head to test Hermione's version of guess-if-I'm-telling-the-truth, but seemed appeased nonetheless.

"That will do, Miss Granger."

It was evident that Snape became uncomfortable at Hermione's lips being so close to his, even though he was still a full head taller than her and could have easily moved out of her way.

"Why do you do that?" she asked in a non-accusatory tone.

"Do what?"

"That. Move back when my mouth is near yours."

Snape let out an irritated growl but pulled Hermione into his darkened room and shut the door. Taking his place down on the lumpy sofa, he waited until Hermione did the same before speaking again. "So I'm to be interrupted by the cackling of a malevolent portrait, the Speckled one, and Messiah of the wizards; now I'm to endure your inane questions?"

"Sorry, I was just curious," Hermione answered nonchalantly. She sat quietly beside Snape, her eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness and honing in on his frame. He was clad in his usual black, although his cravat was missing and the buttons on his coat were partially undone, as if he'd been in the middle of undressing for bed before being disrupted by the shrieking portrait. "It's so quiet in here. I didn't think you'd have been able to hear all the way downstairs."

"Usually I can't, but that portrait is loud enough to wake the dead."

"Oh, I see," Hermione replied, even though it was obvious that she was still waiting for an answer to her initial question.

Snape wasn't witless; he knew that even though Hermione had fallen silent, she was still burning up for a response. "I don't kiss," he finally offered after a stretch of silence.

"Oh..." she trailed off understandingly. "Why?"

"Little witchling, would you like to be put out of my room? I'm sure your mates would be most eager to accept you back into their inebriated fold."

"No! They were giving me a headache," Hermione cringed. "Besides, they probably haven't even noticed that I've gone."

"Pity," came the terse answer, followed by another length of silence. "Let's just say that I have my reasons."

"Oh, well, I suppose that makes sense," Hermione thoughtfully replied. "But I've been told that they're quite nice so long as it's with someone that doesn't try to choke you with their tongue."

"Surely you're referring to the way you adolescents adore swapping copious amounts of saliva, especially when hidden in an alcove at Hogwarts, foolishly thinking that they're the first to do so and feigning shock when they get caught." Too often, Snape had caught students snogging, as they called it. Although he referred to it as oral mating, as one young Ravenclaw had his tongue so far down his girlfriend's throat it seemed as if he was trying to reach for more than just her tonsils.

"No!" Hermione giggled, shaking her head. "And besides, if a boy tried to kiss me like that, I'd bite his tongue off."

"You have a bit of a violent streak, I notice."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, peering up hopefully at Snape. "Would you like me to show you?"

"What, your proclivities at leaning towards savageness? That's quite all right, I'll take your word for it. Besides, I'd hate to have to restrain you."

_Lies, Severus, all lies,_ he told himself.

"Well, I definitely didn't mean _that,_" Hermione chuckled. "No, I meant the way that I would want to be kissed...if someone were to kiss me." Before Snape could utter another word, Hermione shifted upright onto her knees and moved over in his direction, pausing when he jerked back yet noticing the way he kept his eyes focused on hers. "I'm not going to bite you," she promised in a low voice. "And besides, you've already had your hand in my...well, anyway, like I said, I won't bite you."

Mollified when he didn't pull away from her again, Hermione closed her eyes and slowly moved towards Snape, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue before gently pressing them against his. She didn't give him anything more than a few chaste pecks, finishing off with one last, soft kiss at the corner of his mouth before settling back onto the sofa.

Her cheeks were flaming, and Hermione was still reeling from the fact that she had just boldly kissed Snape. His mouth was thin yet felt soft against hers, and she wanted to run her tongue over the slight bow of his upper lip but resisted, not wanting to put him off.

"That bad?" she jested, trying to break the ice when he didn't say anything.

"Quite the opposite," he murmured without giving more detail.

Snape's words were a gross understatement as to what his true thoughts were. Hermione's kiss had been unexpected yet sweet; sweeter than he could have imagined, and Snape didn't know how to feel about that. Still, he had no complaints and wasn't adverse to a repeat performance. Once thing was for sure; it definitely wasn't like his first experience with the opposite sex.

Just like the plethora of students he'd pulled apart and then assigned detention to, the young woman had seemed intent on choking him with her tongue, and Snape found the whole institution distasteful. Of course, as he became older, the women he sparingly consorted with weren't the type that one would kiss on the mouth anyway, but they hadn't seemed interested in it in the first place, and he never minded.

But Hermione wasn't one of those women, and it did seem a bit ridiculous especially after he considered putting his mouth on more intimate areas of her body, another thing that he rarely indulged in.

"Come here," he suddenly told her in a low voice, directing Hermione to stand beforehim. Snape remained sitting down and she awkwardly hunched over before resigning to kneel on the floor before him, insinuating herself between his black wool-covered legs. For a split second, Snape wondered what Hermione's curly head would look like buried in his lap, and had to force himself to focus. He then bade her to lift her arms and removed her jumper and bra, tapping her hip and motioning for her to stand back up. Running a hand over her bare torso, his fingers stopped at the waistband of Hermione's jeans, unfastening the button and zipper and pushing the heavy material down her body.

"Take this off," he said, remaining on the edge of the sofa, his black eyes still focused on Hermione as more of her body became exposed when she slid the jeans and knickers down her thighs, letting them fall into a heap around her feet before stepping out of them. Snape then pulled her to stand in front of him, keeping his hands on her slim hips and pulling her closer.

Hermione was completely silent as Snape stared at her. Without warning, he pulled her down into his lap, and her arms instantly went around his neck to keep from toppling over. Being completely naked and pressed against a clothed Snape felt different than the night before, especially when he was grabbing two handfuls of her behind and pushing her down to rub against his erection. Not knowing what else to do, Hermione lowered her head towards his, surprised when he allowed her to give him another small kiss.

His mouth still didn't linger against hers; instead Snape shifted to lick the curve of Hermione's neck, then lowering his head to her left breast. Hermione had never given much thought to her nipples until the first time when she felt Snape's tongue swirling around it, only then did she realise how sensitive they were. He still had one hand splayed across her lower back, the other cupping a handful of the breast that his mouth wasn't attached to.

"Your little friends are most likely passed out face down on that filthy carpet," he stated in a hushed tone between licks, catching her unawares, "but even so, do you think that you can remain quiet?"

"I don't know," Hermione breathlessly answered. "Why?"

Snape didn't answer her. Instead, he tapped Hermione's thigh and motioned for her to stand up, leading her over to his bed. Snape then pushed her to lie flat on her back, her legs dangling off the edge of the mattress. His black eyes focused on Hermione's, he slid his hands down her thighs, stopped at her knees and hooking his forearms beneath them. Before Hermione could give any forethought as to what Snape was about to do, he lowered his head between her legs and dragged his tongue through her damp folds, circling it around her clit and giving the nub a light suck before letting go.

Hermione hadn't been able to stop the harsh sounding scream that spilled uncontrollably from her lips. While Snape's tongue against her entrance had felt different yet not unpleasant, the feel of the rough, wet surface scraping against her sensitive clit was delicious. Utterly scary, yet delicious.

"That's a definite 'no'," she heard him murmur. That small touch of his tongue to her core had her blood racing, and Hermione wanted to pull every strand of black hair off the top of Snape's head for stopping. "Stop glaring at me and turn over."

"What for?" Hermione asked suspiciously, propping herself up on both elbows to look at the wizard that was still perched between her legs. Snape had the nerve to smirk at her, his thin upper lip curved ever so slightly.

"Because you came to my bedroom, and you'll do as I say. Besides-" he paused to slip one finger between her slippery folds, withdrawing it and holding up the slickened digit for Hermione to see, "you want to."

Hermione was in no mood to ponder the conundrum and relented, turning over onto her stomach. She had just buried her face into the duvet when she felt Snape hovering next to her. Pulling her up onto her hands and knees, he shoved one of the pillows from the top of the bed beneath her stomach, pressing Hermione back down until she was comfortable settled.

The bit of bedroom that Hermione could see was dim enough for her to only make out the few inches in front of her face. Although it wasn't as if she was entirely focused on that moot point; she felt a bit awkward, kneeling on all fours and completely exposed with cool air grazing her nether regions. But Snape obviously wanted her like so for some reason, and up until now he hadn't done anything to her that she didn't like, so she decided to acquiesce, eager to see what he had in store.

Hermione thought she was doing a fine of job of keeping her head together until she felt Snape press a hand to her lower back, urging her to arch her hips even more. If he couldn't see everything before, he definitely could now, as Hermione felt her once tightly clenched lips separate, and a small droplet of moisture began trickling down to her mons. She didn't realize how wet she'd become from that one pass of his tongue, but she definitely wanted more.

While Hermione was occupied with her erratic thoughts, Snape was completely taken by the sight of her bending over in front of him. Snape was, in fact, able to see all of her, as he had wandlessly lit more candles behind him, eager to see the most intimate parts of Hermione that he had recently become acquainted with.

Be it nervousness or anticipation that made the girl continue to smother her face into the duvet, he knew not. All Snape knew was that he planned on finishing what he started when he merely took his first taste of her juices. It was better than when he'd licked them off his fingers, and he would venture to say that the young witch liked it if her uneven scream had been any indication.

Transfiguring a stool that was high enough to keep him eye-level with Hermione, Snape moved into place behind her, his eyes transfixed on the smooth, round orbs of her behind, revealing a pink, wet slit. It was clear that she was aroused, as that same little bead of moisture that once threatened his sanity had now trickled down and clung to her pubic hair.

He was tempted to dive right in but resisted; instead placing his hands on her arse and palming each cheek, squeezing and separating them. Inwardly amazed that even Hermione's behind felt smooth against his rough palms, Snape continued to push and pull them apart, gently kneading and massaging, his long fingers pulling her pink entrance taut, watching as more moisture began to collect at her opening before seeping down.

Hermione let out a low moan when his thumbs delved down to graze her outer labia. Her clit was still throbbing from the brief pass of his tongue over it, but like before, he refused to touch her there until he was ready. Becoming fast reduced to a state of quivering, Hermione dug her fingers into the duvet while frantically pushing her hips back, desperate for any type of relief that Snape was willing to dole out.

"You look like a kitten, writhing about and clamoring to be petted," Snape silkily suggestively to Hermione, although his fingers remained far away from where she wanted them most.

"So why don't you just carry on then?" Hermione spat, half-whining and uncaring about how she sounded. She kept pushing back against Snape's hands, becoming even more wound up when he gave a low chuckle and lightly pressed her down onto the pillow to keep still.

"You'll have it when I want you to," he smoothly replied as nimble fingers pulled her puffy labia apart crosswise, watching with great interest as her small opening reflexively clenched shut. Hermione's thighs were tensing each time his hands touched a different part of her body, her toes curling and brushing against the front of Snape's black frock coat.

It was then that he realized he was still dressed, and Snape pulled back long enough to undo the remaining buttons on his coat and slipped it off, tossing it on the sofa against the wall. Hermione had begun mewling in annoyance when his hands left her body, only calming down when they were back upon her.

Even though they were on summer holiday, Hermione no longer gave any thought to the fact that it was her professor giving her exquisite pleasure that was nearly bordering on pain, all because Snape kept holding back when she wanted him to do just the opposite.

It was obvious that she was now completely wet, as she could hear Snape's fingertip sliding around through the moisture, spreading the slickness around. He then gently circled the pad of his finger around her entrance, and Hermione instinctively moved back to meet his finger.

Snape knew that he had been a bit hasty the day before, remembering the way Hermione sharply inhaled when his fingers swiftly made their mark inside her body. This time he slowly pressed his index finger into her snug, warm sheath, enjoying the way her walls immediately clamped down around it. Hermione's hips bucked, and she moaned softly as the lone digit rubbed and probed her sensitive channel. Her back arched a bit more when Snape withdrew his one finger only to replace it with two, grunting into the duvet when his knuckles were pressed against her entrance. Using his other hand, Snape had his pointer and middle pressed in a V on either side of Hermione's clit, the pads of his fingers gently rubbing the lips without actually touching the swollen nub.

The more he resisted, the more Hermione thrashed against his hand, her frustrated cries of pleasure partially muffled by the bedclothes beneath her face. Snape never stopped moving his fingers, and her slippery juices coated them, running in thick rivulets down his hand. Hermione was literally working herself on his fingers, right on the edge of bringing herself off when Snape pulled his hand back.

At that point, Hermione was so worked up with the need to come that she didn't realize that she had called Snape by his first name, doing so in a tone that made him wonder if she was about to cry. That thought wasn't all that far off; Hermione needed to come so badly by now that it literally made her ache inside and out.

Snape was somewhat unsettled when he heard his name being wrenched from Hermione's lips, but merely cast his shock aside to finish what he started. Hermione was still whimpering when Snape moved back against her, this time using both thumbs to separate her slick fresh, his lips now inches away from her core. Hermione froze when she felt a gust of warm air being blown over her, and then let out a prompt shriek when a hot, open mouth completely engulfed her, the rough surface of Snape's tongue languidly sliding across her clit.

Soft, black hair brushed against her bum and thighs as Snape's lips wrapped around the bud of Hermione's clit, his nose grazing her entrance and his fingers firmly digging into her arse to keep her from moving forward. But she couldn't help it; part of her wanted to crawl away because the sensation was good but nearly too intense, and the other part wanted to reach back and grab a handful of black hair and use them as reins to pull Snape's head into her.

Just when Hermione thought she would be unable to handle anymore, Snape reached up and wrapped both slender hands around her waist, his prominent nose pressing even more into her as his flattened tongue, swirling it over and around her clitoris.

Snape was stymied by Hermione's strong reaction, yet refused to stop. Her sticky juices were smeared all over his cheeks, and the more he licked, the wetter everything became. Just as another onrush of sweet juices hit his tongue, a forceful orgasm smacked into Hermione and she bucked hard against his face, her juices running down his chin and her body shivering from head to toe as she let out a litany of screams into the duvet, his name clearly understood in between the incoherent sounds.

Snape had been able to literally feel her hot flesh pulsating against his mouth, and waited until the tremors in Hermione's limbs died before giving her one last tender lick. Almost immediately she went limp, her fingers loosely curved over two uneven sections of the duvet that she had obviously been gripping onto with both fists. While Hermione was in a stupor, Snape felt as if his cock was being strangled inside of his trousers, and he hastily unbuttoned them and unrigged himself. He wanted to do more than just wank until he got off, although he was sure that a few tugs was all it would take, he had become so aroused listening to and feeling Hermione exploding against his mouth.

Once his shoes were off, and trousers and pants down to his knees, Snape straddled the back of Hermione's thighs, his cock easily insinuated between the cleft of her behind. Hermione moaned slightly at the contact, flinching a bit when the tip slid lower and grazed against her entrance.

Snape gritted his teeth when he felt the heat of her tight little opening against the tip of his cock, and was sorely tempted to push his way inside of her body, yet was unable to ignore the way Hermione jumped.

"Not to worry, we won't be going that far tonight," he reassured, shifting his hips to move his cock back to its original position. The feel of her plump arse cheeks engulfing the sensitive head of his cock was his undoing, and Snape dug his fingers into the round orbs, vigorously pumping his hips back and forth. Right when Hermione began assisting him by moving back to meet his thrusts, the sensitive underside of his shaft being perfectly abraded, Snape gave a deep grunt and spurted his release all over the small of her back.

He was still light-headed when he moved off Hermione, rolling over onto his back and lying next to her. Once Snape felt a bit more coherent, he craned his neck to look over at Hermione, finding that she was fast asleep. He had half a mind to wake the young witch and send her back to her room, but figured that it couldn't hurt to let her sleep for a bit.

_Especially when you consider everything that you've already done, everything that you shouldn't be doing,_ he told himself.

Thus moving off the bed, Snape got his wand and removed the sticky traces of his release off Hermione's back. He cast a light cleansing charm on his own face, wanting the taste of Hermione to remain on his lips. Feeling Hermione thrashing slightly, Snape saw that she was shivering, and easily shifted her slight weight into his arms, placing her properly on the bed and covering her with the duvet. Hermione remained asleep and immediately curled into a ball, burying her head into the pillow.

Shaking his head, Snape changed out of his suit and into nightclothes, making sure that the bedroom was locked before lying down next to Hermione. He would have marveled at the fact that he so quickly grew drowsy, except his eyelids crashed shut before he could give it further thought.

* * *

_***dirty grin* Did I mention how much I loved my e-spankings? Thank you, may I have another? ;)**_


	8. Chapter 8

**_A/N: Sorry-not sorry- for the suggestive messages that I sent to everyone *muahahaaaaaa! cue evil laughter*. If I didn't send you a message, I'm sorry! But you signed in as guest-which is totally fine- but just know that deep down in the dirty cockles of my heart, I sent you a message anyway. I'm trying to get better at thanking EVERYONE for reviewing my story, as I really enjoy hearing everyone's opinions and thoughts. And for those that continue to put this on alert and favorite, you are the bees knees, the cat's meow, you're cooler than chocolate ice cream. And if you want to chat, don't be shy, I don't bite...hard ;)_**

* * *

It wasn't quite dawn when Snape stirred out of his sleep. Only a couple of candles were still burning across from the bed, casting a soft glow on one side of the room. His bed felt warmer than usual, which wasn't surprising as it was occupied by another, and on top of it, Hermione was still naked as the day she was born. While their bodies weren't exactly touching beneath the duvet, she had worked her way closer to Snape in the throes of sleep, remaining curled into a tight ball throughout the night.

Hermione had her face buried into the pillow, the slight roundness in her cheeks prominent, making her look innocent and almost childlike. Although the way she screamed out Snape's name earlier sounded anything but innocent. Still, Hermione looked so juvenile at the moment, Snape figured that she ought to have been sucking on her thumb, ridiculous as the thought sounded.

Snape knew that he sounded like a broken record, but he was still a bit perplexed when it came to the rather unorthodox situation that involved him and the young witch. While Hermione still retained some of her shyness when it came to dealing with her newfound sexual curiosity and desires, it was obvious that she wanted him-in the literal sense. Even more surprising was the fact that Hermione wasn't jaded at all when it came to getting intimate with Snape. And even though he didn't want to admit it, it felt almost natural for Hermione to join him in his room each night. Of course, it would have been an unmitigated disaster had anyone found out, yet there was some unspoken pact between the two that assured that their liaison would remain within the four walls of Snape's bedroom at the topmost floor of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

During the day, she never sought Snape out, unless it was to volunteer to bring his meals. Never once had she suggested that he come down to the kitchen in the basement, as it was obvious that Snape had no intentions of dining with Hermione and her friends, much less anyone else that came to the house. For someone that had been bossy and nearly self-proclaimed to know everything, Hermione's demeanour was anything but pushy when it came to Snape. Perhaps she knew that there could only be one person to hold the upper hand, and that it most definitely wouldn't be her when it came down to the two.

Which brought Snape to another dilemma-just what in the hell did he plan on doing once the school term resumed? Was he to carry on with the illicit relationship with the young girl beneath everyone's nose? Hell, was Hermione even planning to continue on with whatever it was that had blossomed, as strange as it was?

Snape didn't know, a notion that discomfited him. He wasn't the fly by the seat of one's pants type; he preferred looking at a situation from all angles, something that wasn't surprising considering the double-life he'd been leading for over fifteen years. Allowing himself to become distracted wasn't an option, so much as a necessity, as it was contingent upon him living to see another day to carry out the deeds that he had promised a certain annoying white-haired wizard at a time that didn't seem all that long ago.

Trying to make sense of why a naked Hermione Granger was beside him in his bed-besides the obvious, although sex was never something that kept Snape motivated-he realized that once everyone had gone to bed, and Grimmauld Place was finally quiet, with no teenagers or members of the Order thumping about, no surly house-elves lurking about in corners, or screaming portraits renting the air, that he looked forward to Hermione sneaking up to his room and slipping inside like a thief in the night that was working in reverse.

While her presence was enough to make him think of all sorts of reason as to why she _shouldn't_ have been in his room, the feel of her small, soft, deliciously scented body pressed against his was reason enough for him to want her to stay.

Physically, her body was tempting enough. Mentally, Hermione provided a slight sort of reprieve that Snape couldn't remember ever experiencing. The thought was ludicrous; the idea of a seventeen-year-old girl offering him a morsel of peace of mind. Still, there was the old cliché that 'peace of mind was priceless' and Snape reasoned that in his already questionable life, he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. The only thing Hermione had demanded of him, and it hadn't been so much as a demand, more of a request, was for a kiss. A simple kiss. Of all the things she could have asked for, Hermione made that one small request. The notion had been laughable, especially considering when he hadn't given her much option in the way of practically ripping off her knickers and shoving his fingers inside her body when they were in her room.

But... the girl merely wanted a kiss.

Snape had met enough opportunistic people in his life to know when he was staring one in the face. And while such a thing hadn't happened at Hogwarts, Snape wondered that had anyone actually discovered the going-ons between him and Hermione, finding that the witch had willingly come to him, would they assume that the only reason she had done so was to secure high marks with her school work. It was no secret that he was a stringent grader, some would even venture to say unfair. But deep down, Snape knew that Hermione would never do something so tawdry. With all her honorable Gryffindor senses, the very thought was unheard of.

But the young witch was undoubtedly bright, which is why for the life of him Snape couldn't figure out why the hell Hermione was drawn to him, much like a moth to a flame.

As if she had been able to hear his thoughts, Hermione's breathing changed its cadence, giving away the fact that she was awake or about to wake up. Without opening her eyes, she turned over onto her side with her back to Snape, moving closer to him until his pajama covered groin was flush with her behind.

All former thoughts of what he shouldn't be doing along with the why of each reason seemed to circulate throughout his brain, although his cock had a differing opinion. Within minutes it was fully erect and pressing against Hermione's arse. Hermione seemed to know the effect she had on the wizard, and without saying a word, continued wriggling against him.

She was becoming dangerously close to being flipped over onto her back with Snape between her thighs. Hermione ended up being flipped over anyway, yet Snape remained by her side, hastily pushing the duvet back and lowering his face to her chest, grazing his tongue over a deep pink nipple before sucking much of her breast into his mouth. Hermione hadn't been expecting the suddenness of his actions and flinched, although one hand made its way to the back of his head, clutching onto his slippery hair.

With the slightest touch of Snape's hand on her thigh, Hermione parted her legs, eagerly anticipating what she knew was to come. She managed to muffle her moans this time, instead her heavy breathing filling the room as Snape slipped two fingers inside her. Hermione was still warm and moist from earlier, and he was able to manipulate the sensitive flesh with ease.

It didn't take long for Snape to bring her to orgasm, although when he heard a certain pitch in Hermione's voice, he was just in time to cover her mouth with his free hand, his palm absorbing the shrill outburst. His fingers remained inside of her, yet without moving, he allowed Hermione to come back down. Her breathing finally slowed yet came in short, noisy bursts through her nose as Snape still had her mouth covered. Two brown eyes finally opened to find the black-haired wizard leaning over her. The two quietly appraised one another before Snape moved away from Hermione, moving back to his side of the bed.

Half reclining on the pillows, Snape watched as Hermione turned over and shyly insinuated herself upon him, her fingers roaming over his nightshirt covered chest. Wondering how far she was going to go, Snape felt his groin tighten when Hermione's hand moved lower, sliding beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms, her fingertips coming in contact with the coarse thatch of pubic hair.

Hermione still remembered how she hadn't been able to fully see Snape the other night when she'd touched him. Curiosity overriding apprehension, Hermione refused to dither about. She slid further down on the bed, insistently tugging at Snape's pajama bottoms until he lifted his hips, allowing her to pull the pajamas down his slim, pale thighs. There was just enough candlelight for her to make out the dark patch of hair surrounding his cock, along with the thick vein that ran along the underside of his ruddy shaft. With a fumbling innocence, Hermione gently took him in her hand, pulling back the soft skin until the head was exposed. His cock felt warmer, nearly hot against her palm, and Hermione tracing her fingertips along his stiff length with her other hand, circling them around the bell-shaped tip, the pads of her fingers becoming sticky from the dot of clear fluid pooling at the top.

Venturing a peek up at Snape, Hermione saw that his dark eyes were focused down at her one hand that was firmly wrapped around his shaft. She figured that since he had tasted her, she ought to do the same, even if she had no experience whatsoever in the matter. Although if she did something wrong, Snape would be sure to tell her, that was certain.

Snape was amused by Hermione's doubtful countenance, each of her thoughts practically visible to his shrewd eye. Her small hand softly gripped him, and she continued to stare at his cock as if were able to talk to her. It was obvious that Hermione had little to no experience with the opposite sex, and that she would need instruction.

"Lick your lips," Snape told her in a husky voice, making Hermione look up at him. Watching as the small, pink tongue flicked out and ran over her lips, he then directed Hermione to open her mouth and breath through her nose. She was still holding onto him, and gently pushing her hand out of the way, Snape grasped onto the base of his erection with his hand, holding it out for the witch.

Inhaling slightly, Hermione lowered her head and tentatively licked the tip of his cock, finding that the weeping juices were a bit salty but not unpleasant. Snape never made a sound, although Hermione did hear him inhale sharply when she engulfed him with her entire mouth, taking care to not sink her teeth into him. It took an awkward minute of shifting her weight around and moving her curls that were hanging down in a messy curtain around her face and brushing against Snape's abdomen, all the while keeping him in her mouth. Hermione finally settled comfortably on her belly, tucked in between his slim, slightly hirsute legs, which had easily parted to grant her access.

Snape finally let go of his cock, burying that same hand in her curls, merely resting it on top of her head without pushing down, its grip tightening slightly whenever Hermione sucked harder. He was doing a better job at keeping quiet than she had, even without a pillow to bury his face into. Hermione would have believed that her inexperienced caresses left much to be desired, except Snape's narrow hips were moving up to meet her mouth, quiet groans soon leaving his own whenever Hermione's soft lips lingered at a certain spot on the underside of his shaft.

The faster Hermione moved her lips and tongue over Snape, making sloppy sucking noises, the tighter the grip the once nearly slack fingers on her messy curls became, until she felt her head being pried away from him. Letting go of her hair, Snape pushed himself up and took his cock into his own hand. Although his face remained impassive, Hermione could see jaw clenching, able to hear his hastened breath as his long, pale fingers gripped his erection, moving his first back and forth. His other hand grasped the base of his cock, his fingertips pressed into the sensitive spot right beneath his sac.

Unable to pry her eyes away from the captivating sight, Hermione wanted to do more than just watch and caught some of the fluid seeping from his cock on her fingertips, rubbing them over the opening that was slightly larger than a pinhole. Finally eliciting a stronger reaction from the man, Snape let out a broken sounding, lusty groan, his thighs tensing against Hermione, shortly after furiously erupting all over her hand and small breasts. He was still breathing heavily as he sank back onto the bed, his unmoving hand remaining over his now shrinking erection.

Hermione remained perched between his legs, her insides throbbing from the sight of the wizard getting off in front of her. Snape's moans had sent a shiver down her spine, and she wondered what it would be like to once again hear them close against her ear, or even better, being released into her neck or her mouth.

Still reeling as she moved from the foot of the bed and back to Snape's side, Hermione almost forgot that she was covered in his release until a draft hit her upper body. She found slight humor in the fact that he kept managing to aim right at her chest, whether she was clothed or not. By then Snape was more lucid, and had pulled his boxers and pajama bottoms back over his hips. He retrieved his wand from whenever he had it hidden, and passed it over Hermione's skin, vanishing the sticky remains.

Once again, Hermione was at a loss for words. While between her legs continued tingling, the rest of her was cold and wanted to get warm, and she lay back down, pulling the sheets and the duvet up to her neck. Snape said nothing as Hermione lie next to him, even when she reached over and arranged the duvet over his chest.

"If I don't leave before...can you please wake me?" she asked in a languid tone, peering up at him from her place down on the pillow.

"I doubt that anyone will notice your absence, but yes, if you like," he answered without looking at her.

"Thank you," Hermione replied, yawning and soon falling back asleep.

* * *

Both Hermione and Snape ended up sleeping for longer than intended. It was well past the usual breakfast time at Grimmauld Place when a full bladder jolted Hermione out of her sleep. She groggily turned over in bed, her eyes widening in shock when she saw the marginal brightness in the heavily curtained bedroom.

"Oh, damn," she sighed, slipping out of bed and shivering as the brisk morning air hit her nude body. Making her way around to the other side of the bed, Hermione tried to make as little noise as possible while getting dressed. What she didn't know was that Snape was a light sleeper, and had immediately noticed when she stirred next to him. Without acknowledging the fact that he was awake, Snape's dark eyes were focused on Hermione as she hurriedly dressed, her body still trembling in the coolness of the room.

"Sorry, I was trying to not wake you," Hermione apologized, turning around to Snape sitting up in bed and looking directly at her. He shook his head, giving the indication that he hadn't been disturbed. Hermione took that opportunity to move closer to the bed, perching on the edge of it.

It was preposterous that Hermione was still nervous around Snape, but perhaps it was because they had exchanged intimate caresses in the thick of night, and now it was daytime where everything was out on front street. Or it could have been that in spite of it all, the man was shrouded in mystery, even though he had literally exposed himself to her. Hermione never knew what the wizard was thinking, and it wasn't as if he was about to volunteer his thoughts much like she did. Hermione sometimes had to tell herself to shut up, sure that others were tired of her voice at one point or another. Snape had on more than one occasion told Hermione to be silent, that he didn't need to hear everything she was thinking. In hindsight, Hermione realized that his advice wasn't all that off.

However, her next request did give him cause to arch an eyebrow. "Do you have a spare phial or two?"

"Not on me, beneath this duvet," he replied dryly, making Hermione bite back a laugh. But he did reach behind him to pull his wand out from beneath his pillow, Conjuring up two crystal phials and pressing them into Hermione's palm. "Should I even ask?"

"You'll see later," she replied, thanking him. "I'd better go see if Ron and Harry are alright." Hermione's eyes widened when Snape reached his hand out and ran along the curve of her lower back. She wanted to see if she could coax another kiss from him, but refused to even ask without paying homage to her toothbrush first. Rather reluctantly, she rose from the bed, leaving Snape's bedroom with the unspoken promise that she would return later that night.

* * *

Ron and Harry were still abed by the time Hermione was showered, changed, and down in the kitchen. Something told her to check the drawing room first, wondering if they'd fallen asleep there as Snape had suggested. The only thing she found was their empty glasses, the empty bottle of Ogden's, and a roomful of strewn about furniture. The leg of one armchair had somehow caught onto the rug and pulled it back, exposing the old, scratched wooden floorboards beneath.

With a sneer that Snape grudgingly would have been proud of, Hermione used her wand to set the room back to rights, all the while silently chastising her best friends and making a mental note to give them hell later that day- whenever they chose to emerge.

Once Hermione was done she went to the kitchen, preparing and eating lunch with the company of a book. She had taken Snape his share and was tempted to stay in his room with him, but wasn't sure when her friends would finally wake up and didn't want to get caught.

Ron and Harry finally turned up, both looked rumpled and as if they'd been on a bender, although a shove off the edge of a steep cliff was a more appropriate phrase. The two were still clad in their clothing from the day before, everything completely wrinkled from sleeping.

Chuckling as she poured two cups of coffee and sat them down on the table, Ron and Harry thanked Hermione, sliding into place and gratefully pulling the mugs towards them.

"Did you have a good sleep?" Hermione smirked, sitting down across from the two.

"Blimey, Hermione, d'you mind taking it down just a notch?" Ron grumbled, clutching onto the top of his messy ginger head, lowering it down to the wooden table.

"I'm not talking that loudly," Hermione continued. "Unless you want me to whisper?"

"Please," Harry moaned, also resting his forehead on the table, leaving his barely touched mug of coffee by his elbow.

Hermione wanted to laugh and yell, purely to make a point to her best friends, but resisted, reasoning that their throbbing headaches were punishment enough. The boys finally sat up, Harry's black hair and Ron's red hair sticking up as if they'd both been petrified. Hermione paused for a moment, leaner closer and squinting her eyes when she noticed what looked tiny speckles of dirt on Harry's face. Slowly turning to look at Ron, she then noticed that he almost looked as if he'd gotten a black eye, only there were two misshapen black circles on his face.

"I'm probably going to regret asking this," she began in the softest voice that she was able to muster, leaning across the table and pushing Ron's hair back away from his forehead, "but just what in the hell did you two do after I'd gone to bed?"

There were in fact two wonky circles around Ron's eyes, looking as if they had been drawn on with a marker. Two crooked lines also led from the circles back to his ears, a smaller squiggly line going across the bridge of his nose. To top it off, there was a black zigzag on his forehead, in the same place Harry had the scar on his own forehead.

At that point, Hermione moved over to Harry and smoothed his hair back, and saw that the dots on his face had also been drawn on, almost resembling the freckles that covered much of Ron's features, only some of the markings were bigger than others, as if someone had pressed down on the marker too hard, leaving splotches behind instead of tiny dots.

"Well, what happened was, Harry kept going on and on, mimicking me until I told him to shut it. Then I started acting like I was Harry, and I asked him for his glasses, but he said that he needed them else he'd be blind and would walk into a wall."

"So I told him to draw a pair on his face instead, which this idiot actually went through with," Harry cut in, wincing, laughing, and then holding onto his head. "I can't believe you listened to me!"

"Shut up, Harry," Ron snickered.

"And then Harry had to add the finishing touches?" Hermione asked, gesturing towards Ron's forehead.

"Yeah, Harry did that part," he mused. "And then I told him if he was going to be me, he had to have my freckles. So I drew freckles on his face."

Hermione slumped down onto the bench, burying her face in both hands, a choking sound erupting from her mouth and becoming muffled against her palms. Harry and Ron were looking at her, round-eyed with shock, their mouths falling open when Hermione suddenly darted up from the bench and sprinted out of the kitchen. Once the door was shut they heard her burst into loud peals of laughter, snorting in between each intake of breath. Hermione stayed out in the hallway for a good five minutes, and when she finally came back into the kitchen, she was red-faced but calmer.

"Well damn, do we look that bad?" Harry asked, chuckling at his friend.

Hermione bit down hard on her bottom lip, not wanting to explode into another fit of laughter and make their headaches worse. "Have you two looked in the mirror before you left your rooms?" she asked in a hushed tone, her voice wavering as she put up a struggle to keep from giggling.

"No; I just needed something to drink, wasn't worried about a ruddy mirror," Ron groused.

Still biting on her lip, Hermione conjured up a small hand mirror, passing it across to Harry, who was shocked by his ragged appearance, before passing it over to Ron.

"Bloody hell, we're a sight!" Ron snorted. "I mean, I knew Harry looked like hell but damn! I didn't think it was this bad!"

"What I wouldn't give to have a camera right now!" Hermione tittered, inhaling deeply and trying to calm herself again. "On second thought, if your parents knew what you two had been up to...I don't even want to know."

"Please, Dad would probably laugh," Ron said.

"Yeah, but not your Mum," Harry pointed out, although he was grinning widely.

"Yeah, you have a point," the redhead thoughtfully replied.

"She'd say that you went off the rails on the crazy train before killing you, then would hang Harry up by his thumbs," Hermione cut in. "Hopefully Mrs Weasley would know that I wasn't involved, that I'd gone off to bed like a good girl."

_Yes, right to Snape's bed_, she wickedly told herself. _And damned if it wasn't worth every minute of it._

It was the worst possible timing to have a flashback that entailed thoughts of Snape holding onto her hips and pulling her back onto his face, his mouth and tongue licking and devouring her, leaving no part untouched. Hermione sort of remembered calling him by his first name in the throes of her orgasm, and she enjoyed the way he'd rubbed his cock against the cleft of her arse before ejaculating onto her back, but everything had gone a bit fuzzy afterwards. She had been in a stupor from her orgasm, and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. At one point, Hermione opened her eyes to find that she was still naked and in Snape's bed, lying next to him with the duvet pulled up to her shoulders.

Involuntarily shivering when she remembered the way that long tongue slid over her clit, Hermione felt her insides clench, and had to remind herself that she was still in the presence of Ron and Harry. Thankfully, they didn't notice her sudden silence as the two were nursing their cups of coffee, their heads bowed low and looking as if they wanted to go back to sleep. Just then Harry unleashed a wide yawn, Ron following after.

"You both look as if you weren't ready to get out of bed," Hermione told them.

"I wasn't, to be honest," Harry replied, shooting a scornful look over at Ron, "but this one said that you would probably drag us out of our rooms if we didn't show face."

Ron looked slightly sheepish, and Hermione wore a sly grin.

"No, I would have let you two have a lie in," she admitted. "I made lunch if you wanted to eat."

"No!" Ron bellowed, swearing underneath his breath as he covered his mouth. "No, thank you," he continued. "I don't even want to _think_ about food right now."

"I never thought I'd hear Ron Weasley say such a thing," Harry said, shaking his head. "I must still be drunk."

Ron's brown eyes narrowed, appearing as if he was trying to come up with a slick retort. He then changed his mind and rose from the table, giving Harry a rude hand gesture that made him laugh and Hermione scoff.

"Thanks for the coffee, Hermione," Harry told her, also getting up from the table and putting his and Ron's mugs in the sink. "I think I will go back to my room and lie down. I feel like I've been kicked in the head by a Centaur."

"You and Ronald are both idiots," Hermione told him. "I'll bring you both something for your head. But if you two plan on pulling another stunt like this, make sure that I'm either already asleep or ignorant to the whole thing, all right?"

"Believe me," Harry replied with a grimace. "Never again. My head feels as if it were split into two by a Bludger. I don't even want to see butterbeer if I can help it." Still clutching onto his head, Harry ambled away and out of the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, as promised, Hermione stopped by Ron and then Harry's room to bring them some paracetamol. Harry, having grown up in a Muggle household, immediately knew what the pills were and gratefully swallowed them down, but Ron eyed them suspiciously before Hermione lost her patience, threatening to take them back until he snatched the little pills from her palm and gulped them down with a glass of water. Ron then promptly fell back onto his pillows, closing his eyes and resuming his snoring.

Hermione went back to her room, settling down on her bed with a book, yet found herself unable to focus. Even though Harry and Ron filled most of their waking hours with silly banter and antics, Hermione had grown accustomed to spending time with them, and it was a bit strange without their voices filling the stark void of Grimmauld Place.

Laughing to herself again when she thought about the drawn glasses on Ron's face, and the freckles on Harry's, Hermione shook her head, knowing that the previous night was something that would have to stay under wraps.

When the silence of her bedroom became too great to bear, Hermione picked up her wand, tiptoeing out of her room and making her way to the staircase. She had just made it to Snape's door when it swung open, once again in awe that he knew she was nearby, even though she'd tried her best to not make a sound.

Snape lingered in the doorway, as if considering whether or not to let Hermione in, but finally relented and stepped back, allowing her to pass. Peering around the room, she saw that the bed was neatly made, nearly looking as if it had never been slept in. Hermione then looked up at Snape, who closed the bedroom door and gestured for her to sit down. It looked as if she had interrupted his own reading, as a book was in his left hand, his forefinger serving as a place holder.

"Isn't it a bit early for you to be skulking about?" Snape asked, folding his arms across his chest and looking intently at Hermione. His dark eyes nor his tone held any rebuke, and Hermione knew that he didn't mind her barging in on him. _Well, maybe not that much_, she told herself. It was still odd to see Snape without his black frock coat and teaching robes, although the white linen shirt was buttoned all the way up to his neck, the tails neatly tucked into customary black trousers.

"Ron and Harry came down for coffee, and then they went back to bed," she explained. "I gave them something for their headaches, though, the two idiots. You should have seen them when they came downstairs."

Snape arched one eyebrow, the only indication that he was waiting for Hermione to divulge. When she finished explaining about the drawn on glasses and freckles, the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, that it could been a cross between a smirk and a sneer.

"You are the glue that holds those two together," he said. "I'm surprised you don't point out that small fact more often."

"I'm no braggart," Hermione firmly stated, conceding when Snape threw her a derisive glance. "Fine; so I'm a little bossy, but it's my nature."

"A 'little bossy' is an outright lie, Miss Granger. You're a pushy little swot." Hermione glowered at that comment, uncaring if she looked repugnant. "But at least you're able to back up your words-most of the time, at least."

She deflated a bit hearing Snape's last sentence, knowing that was as close that she would come to hearing praise from him, and gave him a smug little smile as she settled back onto the sofa. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."

"Nothing pressing, I assure you," he replied, rising from the bed and walking over to the other side of the room. Picking up another book, he walked back over to Hermione and handed it to her. "That should suffice for now."

Hermione looked down at the book in her hand, a rare tome on Arithmancy that she'd heard about but could never actually find, before looking back up at Snape. "Does this mean that I have to go back to my room?"

"You're free to go wherever you want; dally with that nasty little elf if you like. But no, that wasn't a hint for you to take your leave. Besides, if I wanted you to, I would come outright and say so."

"Yeah, you've got a point," Hermione said under her breath. She knew she was going round the bend, as she couldn't ever remember an opportunity where Snape held his tongue. The man was clearly shrouded in secrecy, but if he wanted to say something, he did, no matter who might be insulted. Hermione would know; she'd experienced his sharp wit more times than she cared to count.

By then, Snape had gone back over to the desk without uttering another word, sitting down and opening the book that he had still been holding on to. Hermione opened her own, rather begrudgingly, as she could think of other things she'd rather be doing...although the first chapter did capture her interest...

The two sat in silence for an hour, deeply engrossed in their respective books. The only thing that changed was Snape relocating from the desk to an old leather armchair in the corner.

In between poring over her book, Hermione kept peeking over at Snape, tickled pink at how engrossed he was in his own. The man clearly had a love for written word just like she, as was evident by the way long fingers were splayed just so across the leather bindings, holding the tome up inches away from his face, his lank black hair falling down over his forehead and framing his gaunt features. Snape's dark eyes methodically moved over each word, not completely unlike the way they roved over her naked body the night before.

Speaking of her naked body, she wondered just how the hell he knew how to make her fall apart into a million pieces with his mere fingertips, at the same time being uncomfortable with something as innocuous as a kiss. Without a doubt, Severus Snape was the proverbial enigma.

_So why do you want to sleep with a man that you know so little about?_

_Do you need a reminder of the way you came all over those incredibly long fingers? Was that not reason enough?_

_Yes, I remember, and no! That's not reason enough. _

_Hermione, shut up, stop talking to yourself. Next thing you'll be saying that someone is living inside the wallpaper in your room like in that book 'The Yellow Wallpaper' and where will you be? Chewing on the ends of your hair, talking to floating specks of dust, locked away in the mental ward at St Mungo's, that's where._

_Yes, but that's where people would say you need to be anyway if they found out about you and Snape. They'd say you were barking mad._

_Well, aren't you barking mad? Aren't you the one holding a monologue inside of your already cluttered head? Shall I reserve that bed for you at St Mungo's? Perhaps one by a window?_

_Go away._

Damn, if Snape could take a glimpse of her errant thoughts, he would most likely be in agreement that Hermione was in fact mad. Remembering that he was an adept Legilimens from the stories Harry told her about their strenuous private lessons during the previous school year, Hermione sought small comfort in the fact that eye contact typically had to be made to use Legilimency. Although...she still had her suspicions about Snape, as the man always seemed to know what someone else was thinking without them saying it. She had been shocked when he'd handed her his book, of all topics it being on Arithmancy, her favourite subject.

The next thing Hermione worried herself about was what was going to most likely happen later that night. She hadn't actually came outright and told Snape that she was a virgin, although she suspected that he already knew. Hermione hadn't exactly been able to bite back the soft cry the night they were in her room; Snape had caught her off guard when he pressed two long fingers inside of her to the hilt, as for a split second it burned like hell. What followed, though, made Hermione nearly lose her head and every ounce of sense that she possessed, as the feel of her walls being intimately stroked and prodded had felt entirely too good.

Thinking about their every intimate encounter since the first had left Hermione distracted and aroused. Her eyes had gone out of focus, and the printed words in the book on her lap were a bit hazy. Coming back to attention, Hermione hoped that Snape hadn't noticed her daydreaming, and covertly looked over at him. The dark-haired wizard was still focused on his book, paying no mind to the young witch across the room.

At least, that's how it appeared to Hermione. Snape had long been tempted to strip Hermione's clothes off and push her down onto his bed. All that morning, even after she'd left his room, the sweet musk of her sex along with the clean, natural scent of her skin had been embedded into the bed sheets, and no matter which way he turned, Snape kept catching whiffs of Hermione's mouthwatering essence. That was part of the reason that he'd left her across his room, figuring that it was safer for them to keep distance so long as it was daytime.

True, her two mates were most likely still drooling into the pillows, in a hung-over stupor, but Snape didn't want to take any chances of him and Hermione being overheard had they ended up naked and rutting against one another again. Because he knew that not only would his fingers find their way inside of that tight little body of hers, his cock would undoubtedly follow behind.

No, best to let her stay at a safe distance until he could have her the way he wanted. Even if his erection disagreed.

* * *

Hermione finally slipped from Snape's room a couple hours later. She had been surprised and somewhat disappointed that he barely touched her, yet said nothing. Harry and Ron still hadn't emerged from their rooms, and Hermione settled on making sandwiches for supper, leaving them both covered plates of food along with a note in their respective bedrooms.

Once she had bathed and was dressed in her nightgown, Hermione sat cross-legged on her bed, fingering the two crystal phials she had gotten from Snape. Holding out her left hand, palm-side up, she traced the tip of her wand against her fingertips, telling herself 'no', then lowering it to her palm. Utilizing a small cutting spell, Hermione winced slightly as she made a small incision into the heel of her palm, uncapping both phials and holding them to the cut until both were filled with the deep red liquid. She then used a simple healing spell on her wound, capping both phials and tucking one into her trunk for safekeeping. Grabbing the second phial and wand, Hermione opened her bedroom door, making sure that the darkened hallway was empty before tiptoeing upstairs.

* * *

Hermione had barely made it to Snape's bedroom when the door was swiftly yet silently flung open. Within the blink of an eye, Snape stepped forward and closed the space between them, bodily pulling Hermione against him and sweeping her inside, lazily waving a hand to shut and lock the door. Wide-eyed with shock, Hermione nearly forgot that she was carrying her wand and the crystal phial, until she reached up to steady one arm around his neck and felt both items clink together.

Snape had been hard put to let Hermione leave his bedroom earlier. All that day, visions of his cock sliding in between her lips, her messy hair sliding over his thighs, left him with more than one erection which he refused to handle by his own hand. All of which culminated to him practically yanking Hermione off her feet when he found her in the hallway, dressed in that ugly, voluminous nightgown, the thick material rustling as she briskly made her way to his room.

Taking scant notice of the objects in Hermione's hands, Snape easily pried them from her grasp and set them down on his nightstand. He paused, frowning slightly when he saw the dark, red liquid inside the phial, yet remained silent.

It was unexpected the way Snape held Hermione against him, yet she clutched tightly onto his shoulders, in fear of falling if he were to let go. Snape was still fully dressed, the row of jets buttons on his severe coat pressing into her chest and stomach through her nightgown. One sinewy arm was fixed around her waist, the other draped across Hermione's upper back, Snape's fingertips digging into her shoulder blade and threatening to leave bruises. A prominent erection pressed against the front of her clenched thighs, the hand around Hermione's waist soon traveling down to her behind, grabbing and squeezing and pulling her forward to rub against his trouser-covered cock.

Hermione moaned softly when she felt Snape's tongue caress the shell of her ear, gently biting down on her earlobe before moving to firmly plant his hot, open mouth alongside her neck. Snape wasn't hurting her in any way; it was quite the opposite. He was going at her with a fervor that took her breath away, causing her body to grow heated within seconds. But it was Snape's comportment which consisted of pure, unadulterated sexual hunger, that sent the weight of Hermione's inexperience to crash down upon her.

Right then it dawned on Snape that Hermione was trembling against him like a leaf, able to feel the heat of her heavy panting through his clothed chest. Her small hands were clutched onto his frock coat, and when Snape pulled back slightly, he realized that she was holding onto him as tightly as he was holding onto her. The little witch continued to bore a hole into his chest, yet Snape was still able to see something akin to panic in her brown eyes. He had to tell himself that even though Hermione had been behaving audaciously for the most part each time they were alone, she still embodied a blatant naiveté, and was most likely still coming to terms with everything they had done, and were going to do.

"Hermione."

Snape's deep voice broke Hermione out of her reverie, although the young witch was so nervous she hadn't realized that he'd used her first name.

Cool hands pressed to either side of her face, and Snape lowered his face to Hermione's, his lips barely grazing her forehead. Listening to her shuddering intake of breath, Snape felt Hermione's fingers gradually loosen their chokehold on his frock coat.

The wizard generally enjoyed scaring others, but that was the last thing he wanted to do to Hermione. Typically it wasn't in his nature to be slow or gentle, and while Snape couldn't guarantee that Hermione would enjoy everything at first, he fully planned on not taking her hard or too roughly like he usually would.

Long fingers tipped Hermione's chin up, and Snape briefly engaged her with a few chaste pecks to the lips. Hermione was shocked yet became quite agreeable, and fully returned his kiss, going so far as to gently touch her tongue to his. Snape found that Hermione had a valid point about what she'd previously told him about kissing.

The two became lost to a frenzy of lips and tongues moving against each other, their embrace growing more frantic. Snape only paused to grab a handful of Hermione's curls, hastily pulling her head back and nipping at her throat with his teeth.

Hermione was in awe that the slightest pressure of his teeth on her skin could make her knees buckle, and she slumped against the wizard, her arms instantly winding around his neck, willing herself to remain upright.

Snape wouldn't have let her fall; Hermione's waist was firmly ensnared by his arms. But when she wavered again, he began slowly moving backwards, guiding the young woman to his bed and pushing her down when her the back of her legs met the edge of the mattress.

Unwilling to let go of Snape, Hermione protested when he pulled her hands down from his neck, stepping back to unbutton his black frock coat. Brown eyes were intently focused on the pale hands that methodically unfastened each button, the sliver of white linen shirt beneath the dark material becoming slowly revealed. When his coat finally hung open, Snape fluidly shrugged out of it, relegating the stiff garment to the sofa behind him.

Snape then only unfastened a couple top buttons of his shirt, and Hermione curiously looked at him, wondering why he refused to completely remove it.

"Some things are better left unseen," was all he told Hermione, deciphering the puzzled look on her face.

"Some things... like what?" she asked. "I've already seen your chest, if you don't recall, that night in my room."

"Perhaps I'm trying to spare your innocent eyes of more than just my chest," Snape drawled, coming to stand in front of Hermione and looking down at her. Watching as she rose from the bed and closed the space between then, Snape resisted the urge to pull back when Hermione immediately went for the buttons on his cuffs, then moving on to the small row of buttons lining his front. Both parties were closed-mouth throughout the whole ordeal, Snape especially when Hermione tugged the shirt, as well as the sleeveless vest off his thin upper body.

Snape decided that Hermione was either oblivious or immune to the old scars mapped across his skin, as well as the glaring and quite ominous Dark Mark on his left forearm; he wasn't sure which. Nor did he care once her warms hands were palm down against his chest, her fingertips grazing against his protruding ribcage.

The truth was simple enough-Hermione wasn't put off by the sight of Snape's body. She already knew from touching and later seeing his chest when she previously healed it that he had a slight frame. Maybe it was why she hadn't minded taking him meals every day, always making sure to put extra on his tray. He had the sort of build that she once heard being described as one that needed fattening up.

Snape was definitely on the lean side, with more sharp angles and contours than anything, but weak was something he was not. Those slim arms of his proved to have no difficulty in hauling Hermione off her feet, or lifting anything else for that matter.

In spite of the old, raised marks littering his torso, Hermione found that Snape's chest was quite smooth. Without thinking, she brushed her lips against his sternum, inhaling a scent reminiscent of herbs and something sweet that she couldn't pin down to just one thing, yet was clearly his own and smelled just right.

Hermione's fluttering lips were just short of kissing, as her hands continued to trace a deliberate path along Snape's chest and stomach. Her nightgown covered arms then went around his waist, at the same time nuzzling her face against his collarbone as her fingertips dug into his back.

Snape was all for letting her continue on with her careful exploration, until Hermione stood on tiptoe and pressed her open mouth against the base of his throat, flicking her tongue out at the protrusion.

That little move ignited something unspoken, and swiftly Snape grabbed Hermione around the shoulders, pressing her down onto his bed, perched on one knee between her thighs and gesturing for her to slide up until their legs were no longer dangling off the mattress.

Hermione's nightgown was trapped beneath Snape's knees, and he leaned up to yank the material out of his way, before thinking better of it and merely shoving it halfway up Hermione's thighs. At that point everything began accelerating quickly. The full length of Snape's body was pressed against Hermione's, wiry arms and legs aligned with hers and pinning them to the duvet. Letting out a soft moan, Hermione tried regaining control of her senses by holding onto Snape's back.

Wondering if he'd changed his mind about full on kissing, as Snape was now freely offering that bit of intimacy, he was also giving the rest of her face the same slow, careful treatment. Although his kisses were somewhat reticent, Snape had insistently pushed her thighs apart, his hands voraciously squeezing and massaging the soft, fleshy area.

The young witch lay beneath him, trembling from the intensity of it all, at the same time wondering if he was going to dive right in without preliminaries. It didn't matter much to her at that point; Snape's erection was held down by his black trousers and his hips were flush with hers. Each time he moved, the firm bulge pressed directly onto the seat of her knickers, which were mostly likely completely sodden by now.

Just when Hermione rolled her hips against Snape's, trying to aim his erection at her clit, he pulled away from her. Settling back onto his heels and reaching beneath her nightgown, his long fingers hooked beneath the elastic at her hips and swiftly tugged the knickers down her legs. They ended up getting caught around Hermione's right ankle and Snape didn't bother to remove them.

Before Hermione could say anything, Snape's strong hands held her thighs down. Only his black hair was visible as he pressed his face into her sex, his tongue easily landing on her sensitive nub that he was a master at manipulating. Hermione keened loudly into the room, remembering that she needed to keep quiet before sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. Snape's entire mouth was planted over her, while his hands were employed with firmly grasping onto whatever body part he could reach. Hermione's thighs, stomach and breasts were mauled almost to the point of pain, Snape's blunt fingernails raking over her heated skin and leaving fiery trails in their wake. Coupled with the sensation of his lips and tongue alternating between nibbling and sucking at her clit, Hermione soon had her legs over Snape's shoulders, her calves wrought with tension as her heels dug into his upper back.

Moans becoming trapped against her shut lips and practically humping his face with her cunt, two small hands shot down and clutched onto straight black hair, holding on for dear life and becoming even tighter when Hermione finally exploded against Snape's tongue.

Whimpering, in a daze and completely spent, Hermione went slack against the bed, her nightgown remaining pushed up past her navel and bunched around her torso. Snape still had his arms wrapped around her thighs, his tongue now laving the soft, inner skin.

_Merlin!_ Hermione screamed in her head. Every nerve in her body was aflame, her core continuously clenching as if Snape's lapping tongue was still touching her. Her legs went slack when the tenacious wizard finally let them go. Hermione paid scant attention to the fact that he was no longer on the bed with her, only opening her eyes and looking down when he moved back into place and was between her thighs.

Snape hadn't been able to remove the rest of his clothing fast enough. Once he was back upon the bed, he saw that Hermione still wore her nightgown. Urging her to sit up, Snape removed the cumbersome garment over her head, telling her to lie back down as he chucked her nightgown onto the sofa, the bundle of fabric landing on top of his frock coat.

Right then Hermione registered his naked legs against hers, Snape's sharp knees grazing her inner thighs. This time his hands weren't as frantic as they reached up to cup her breasts, his thumb and forefinger capturing her stiffened nipples. Each time he moved, the tip of his erection skimmed over the sparse hair between her legs, lightly abrading Hermione's still swollen and orgasm-sensitive clitoris and making her jump.

"Sir?" Hermione called softly, propping her head up to look down at Snape.

"I still taste you on my lips," he replied, smirking at Hermione. "Surely that warrants dispensing with the formalities. For now, at least. I don't think I need to point out what will most definitely ensue should someone overhear you referring to me on a more familiar basis."

"All right... _Severus_," she continued nervously. "I was just wondering about..."

"Preventative measures?"

"Well... yes."

"So I take it you have no objections to fully going through with this?"

_What the hell is wrong with me?_ Hermione seethed inwardly when she found herself unable to speak. Shaking her head in response to Snape's question, she continued to peer down at him. Snape..._Severus,_ Hermione corrected herself, was still kneeling upright between her splayed thighs, partially hovering over her. His thick, heavy erection jutted forth from a thatch of black hair, curved slightly in her direction and resting on her abdomen.

Minus the billowing cloak, the cravat, and the buttoned-up suit, the wizard still managed to cut an imposing figure. An impressive feat, considering he was completely naked, exposing every inch of his rail thin, pale body. Perhaps it was the fact that he held an air of surety while gazing down at Hermione with a lustful gleam in his black eyes that sent her heart galloping wildly, and made her body shudder involuntarily.

"Just so you know," he began silkily, hooking both hands beneath Hermione's knees and pulling her closer to him. "_That_ is the last thing you need worry about," Snape finished, in response to Hermione's unfinished, stammered query. He brewed a potion that rendered him sterile and took it every few months, as his life was unpredictable. Even though occurrences for sex had been slim to nil for the past year, Snape refused to take any chances. "Does that answer your question?"

Nodding her head once more, Hermione took a deep breath to steel herself as Severus moved over her.

**xx**

* * *

_**I'm sure I'm DEFINITELY going to get some e-spankings now, but really, this thing was getting too damned long! So the rest should be up shortly, don't hurt me! Not too badly, at least ;)**_

_**Thoughts? Comments? Curses? Hexes? **_


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: SO sorry for the delay. And sorry...not sorry for the naughty (some filthy) messages that I sent everyone-roarrrr! You all are the best! Now I won't even mention what time it is, so this thing will get another read through tomorrow and all errors, cause I'm sure there are some, will be fixed. My bum says thank you and more please for those e-spankings ;). Again, the reviews, alerts, favorites, ideas, threats, love notes, marriage proposals (wait, don't think I got one of those)-I loved them all! Mooore! :D **_

* * *

Severus remained on his knees, leaning over Hermione and carrying most of his weight on his left elbow. Her bare feet brushed against his slender limbs, although Hermione was unaware that she had curled her toes up in a fit of anxiety. She knew her first time would be uncomfortable; that was to be expected. Hermione hadn't enjoyed it when Severus first penetrated her with his fingers, but the discomfort had soon given way to pleasure.

Although that was only two fingers, and his cock was thicker compared to his slim digits.

While Hermione was having a bit of an internal meltdown, Snape was distracted by the sight of her bared, nubile form on display before him. The young witch continued to appear more anxious by the minute, flinching slightly when Severus moved over her and covered her body with his. Hermione's brown eyes slowly came into focus when she noticed that Severus' face was inches away from hers.

In spite of the fact that up until now, Severus had for the most part taken his time with her, Hermione still somewhat expected him to just shove his way into her body, thus she was unable to help her nervousness. Hence her surprise when he lowered his head, merely slipping his tongue past her lips while allowing his body to press lightly upon hers.

Unable to hold back a soft moan, Hermione thought it a shame that it had taken a few days to convince Severus to kiss her, as he proved to be quite skilled at doing so. A curtain of straight black hair tickled her cheek , and would have obscured her vision had her eyes been open. The tip of Severus' tongue teased and caressed hers, never moving too deeply or making Hermione feel as if she were being choked.

Just as Hermione slid her arms around Severus' neck, becoming lost in the feel of his mouth languidly moving against hers, he broke their kiss and moved up onto his knees, sliding his hands along her inner thighs. Tugging Hermione towards him and angling her hips against his, he then grabbed his cock, teasing the outside of Hermione's folds with the tip. His hand moved atop her cleft while his thumb brushed against the hood of her clit, using the right hand to drag his length along her slickened seam. The puffy folds parted and enveloped him, the hot, little mouth of Hermione's entrance already tempting him to drive home in a single thrust. He gently prodded her for a moment, allowing Hermione to get used to the feel of him against her. Finally unable to hold out any longer, Severus began using slow, calculated movements to inch forward into Hermione's body.

Hermione's legs were tense against Severus, yet she remained completely still, eyes squeezed shut and not making a single sound as he slowly moved against her. She was fine until the flared part of his shaft pressed against her barrier, and Hermione instantly shrank back, trying to avoid the pain.

The last thing Severus wanted to do was stop, but he did, pausing to look down at Hermione who was biting down on her bottom lip. Realizing that he was waiting for her to give him some sort of a signal, she opened her eyes, giving a small nod for him to keep going. He managed to get all of a few inches before Hermione jerked away from him again. Her hands had been lying by her side before they came up to Severus shoulders, pushing at him whenever things became too painful.

Swearing inwardly, Hermione tried to coax herself to ignore the pain and keep going. She felt completely gauche for retreating from the wizard each time he tried to make his way into her body, but it hurt a lot more than she had anticipated.

"I'm alright," she told him, although there was a slight waver to her voice.

Grasping the base of his shaft, Severus guided himself against Hermione once more, moving slowly as humanly possible. Still Hermione gasped in pain and moved away; each time Severus following her until they were both lying horizontally across the bed.

Taking his time with an innocent was something Severus had little experience with, and he attempted to distract Hermione, running his hand over her trembling stomach in between plucking and caressing her erect nipples, and kissing her. While Hermione enjoyed his hands stroking her skin, his efforts did little to negate the fiery burn of Severus trying to penetrate her. His lips were now against hers, and Hermione had her arms around Severus' neck, completely enthralled with the kiss yet whimpering into his mouth, her pointy fingernails digging into his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," Hermione whined, unable to keep from clamping down and refusing to allow Severus to go any further after what felt like the umpteenth time.

Hermione felt hot and sticky, perspiration dotting her skin despite the cool air in the room. On top of it all, she felt badly, wondering if Severus was as frustrated as she. But she was sure there had to be more than this... _damnably_ uncomfortable feeling. She knew there was; that much was clear from everything else she had experienced sexually at Severus' hand thus far. Besides, hadn't she heard little knots of older girls talking in hushed tones about the things that they'd done with their boyfriends in the privacy of whatever space they managed to find? Those girls sounded as if sex was the next best thing since...she didn't know what. The only thing that managed to thrill her up until now was the feeling of coming across a book she hadn't yet read, and that was only until she had experienced Severus' mouth bringing her to orgasm.

That had by far surpassed the thrill a new book.

But this was ridiculous. Hermione knew she was over-thinking things, as she tended to do, but there really was no way to ignore the way her body continued to protest Severus' ingress. She had half a mind to tell him to just swiftly move past her hymen, but each time he was partway inside of her, she realized that the idea wasn't so great. She already knew her first time would hurt, but never had an idea of how much that would be. Snape's cock felt as if it were squeezing her walls nearly to the breaking point, yielding a stringing, aching, stretching sensation that Hermione was unable to avoid, no matter what he did or how slowly he moved.

Severus paused to peer down at Hermione again, the expression on his usually stoic face plainly conveying for her to stop apologizing, that he wasn't cross with her. On the contrary; he was displayed an exceeding amount of patience. As much as he wanted to hastily plunge into her depths, restraint was something that Severus had experience with, even if ever since coming to Grimmauld Place, he'd found his ever upheld self-control being tested on an almost daily basis. He still hadn't completely grasped the concept of Hermione Granger lying naked in his bed, in his arms, willingly offering her untouched body to him.

Snape was also surprised that Hermione wasn't badgering him to tell her just how he knew about her virginal status. Of course, there was always later, and surely he would have some answering to do, which he didn't mind. But his suspicions had been confirmed right when he covered Hermione's naked body with his own. The look on her face clearly showed that she had expected to be eaten alive, and a mixture of surprise and relief overshadowed her panic when he didn't rush right in.

His task still wasn't easy by any means; Severus barely penetrated Hermione before her tight walls bore down on him, squeezing the tip of his engulfed cock and nearly making him light-headed from arousal.

Desperate to feel more of her squeezing his shaft, Severus rocked his hips more insistently against Hermione, earning a sharp gasp from her. Up until that point he'd been doing a fine job of not being hasty, but now all of that was hurriedly flying out the window, a need to be fully buried within the witch taking over his senses.

Because Hermione had been holding her legs back for so long, along with tension cramping the rest of her muscles, her entire body was beginning to ache. Despite being pinned to the bed by Severus' weight, she stretched her legs alongside his, instant relief coursing through her limbs as her toes brushed against his calves.

His shaft had slid out of place from the last time Hermione pulled away. It was clear that the witch wanted to go all the way, but was having the hardest time with making her body relaxed enough to accept him.

Snape wasn't completely without compunction, but he'd teetered the fine edge of his breaking point more times than he cared for. Swiftly he repositioned Hermione beneath him, hovering over her and straddling her thighs, his slender legs hooked around hers to keep her in place. Without another word he placed himself back at her entrance, beginning a more solid ingress into her body.

Blatant discomfort was etched all over Hermione's face, though she never told him to stop. Even if she had, Severus didn't know if he would have been able to. When he pulled back and entreated further into that tight, hot niche, Hermione let out a loud gasp, yet still she let Severus press on.

Trembling from head to toe, her short nails digging into Severus' biceps and threatening to draw blood, Hermione still did her best to keep a level head. But those little gasps she kept releasing turned into one long, shrill cry when the wizard's hips finally lunged all the way forward. That swift, solid move took a mere second to seat him firmly within her confines, until his sac was flush against her tightly clenched behind, and Hermione was unable to breathe for a moment. Only when she was able to take in air again, did a howl of pain erupt from her chest.

Hermione's cries ended up falling upon deaf ears, as Severus was now insensate to everything but the feel of her hot, throbbing passage hugging his cock. Repositioning his legs back between Hermione's thighs, Severus shoved both hands beneath her hips, his long fingers digging into the soft orbs of her behind as he began pulling her against him to meet each thrust.

Her cries could have very well been from pain or pleasure-neither really sounded all that different. Severus figured it was most likely still pain, as Hermione hadn't yet figured out how to fully relax her body and accept him, a good indicative being her short nails still firmly embedded into his forearms.

Each time he pulled back it stung. There _was _a trace of underlying pleasure, yet pain continued to override it and Hermione forced herself to not push Severus away. Soon the sensation of being filled and stretched out in a way that she was unaccustomed to no longer hurt as badly as when Severus first joined her body with his. But he was definitely bottoming out within her, hitting the back of her walls, and Hermione felt it right in the pit of her stomach. Realizing that she was nearly clawing at Severus' forearms-although he didn't seem to mind- Hermione pried her fingers loose and held onto the duvet instead.

Severus slowed down long enough to pull his hands from beneath Hermione's behind and move them under her shoulders. Lowering his body until his chest was against hers, Severus heard Hermione inhale softly as her stiffened nipples graze against his skin.

"Am I still hurting you?" he asked in a low voice.

Hermione thought about telling him 'no', but knew that she was rubbish when it came to lying. Severus himself told her that she had a too-honest face. "It's still a little..." she trailed off, obviously not wanting to put him off.

Severus said nothing, but he did become less hasty with his movements. Hermione eventually managed to collect herself, and opened her eyes to peer at the wizard laboring over her. While Severus' face almost looked the same as it did any other day, Hermione saw that his mouth was partially slack, and there was a fiery glint in his black eyes. His fingers continued clasping onto her shoulders, biting fervently into her skin each time his hips surged forward.

Severus was doing his best to not outright pummel into Hermione, but the warm, snug clasp he was buried in squeezed him in the most sublime way, and it was a miracle he hadn't yet exploded. It was clear that Hermione was getting far less enjoyment out of their coupling than he was, but that was to be expected. Severus fully planned on making it up to her another time, but right now he was only able to focus on one thing-his own release.

Shifting his weight one last time to move his hands back to Hermione's waist, Severus' held on and pulled her back to deliver long, deep strokes that made the witch quiver and alternate between loud gasps and raw-sounding moans.

Hermione felt completely overwhelmed, and was barely able to catch her breath. Severus kept sliding into her as if it were the last thing he planned on doing, and the frantic cadence along with the intense sensations rushing through her limbs literally took the rest of her senses away. Just when everything began to culminate into something that vaguely resembled her coming all over Severus' hand, his fingers dug almost painfully into her abdomen as he let out a deep, strangled groan. Severus' face was oddly contorted in a parody of a grimace, yet by then she knew enough to understand that it was just the opposite.

Thrusting unevenly against her a few more times before he finally stopped, Severus remained hovered over Hermione, his hair falling over eyes that were screwed shut as he fought to catch his breath. It was a while before he looked down at a slightly trembling Hermione, finding that she had her eyes closed and was still clutching onto the duvet.

_Damn,_ he thought, pulling out of her and moving to her side. He took instant notice of the blood streaked along his shaft, Hermione's inner thigh, and the patch of duvet beneath her. Severus knew that he hadn't completely let loose on her, while reasoning that he should have taken more care.

Hermione's thoughts, on the other hand, were at the other end of the spectrum. Her insides throbbed and still felt swollen. While she admittedly felt sore, there had been something much better on the horizon, yet the sensation faded once Severus erupted inside of her. Itchy and uncomfortable with remnants of an unfulfilled climax, Hermione literally ached all over and was tempted to ask Severus to put her out of her misery. Yet when she reflexively clenched her muscles, a definite tenderness announced itself and a second round was something that Hermione was not ready for.

Becoming aware of the speechless wizard sat next to her on the bed, Hermione opened her eyes and turned to look at him.

"What's wrong?"

Severus said nothing as he continued to curiously peer between her legs, his eyes roving over the reddened area.

_Where would you like me to start?_ he silently asked, yet kept his thoughts to himself, not wanting to be too abrasive after their intimate encounter. For starters, Severus was a bit angry at himself for losing control of his own body, but Hermione felt so good that all thoughts of stopping or slowing down at the very least had been on the backburner of his mind. When he finally broke through Hermione's untouched passage, her cry had been a terrible thing to hear, yet it didn't stop him from screwing her into the bed sheets. Now she was staring at him, surely wondering why he wasn't speaking to her.

"Are you all right?" he finally asked, relieved when Hermione nodded her head.

"Yes; a bit sore but nothing that'll kill me," Hermione replied, giving Severus a small grin. "I'm actually a little sleepy."

"Then go to sleep," Severus suggested, telling Hermione to wait a moment as he reached for his wand, passing it over her skin to remove the traces of her blood and his release from her thighs.

Once Hermione had been sorted, she fought back a grimace when she felt the ache between her legs. Pulling the duvet back she climbed beneath, letting this sheets fall right above the dip in her back. Severus watched quietly as she moved about, his black eyes betraying nothing of how he felt at that moment. She wanted to ask if something was bothering him, but knew better, reasoning that Severus wouldn't tell her anyway.

Still, Hermione was a bit preoccupied with the new feelings still coursing throughout her. She never gave thought to how she would feel once she lost her virginity. Actually, that had been something that she rarely gave much thought to. The very idea of a boyfriend had put her off after dealing with the likes of Viktor Krum. And there had been no way in hell that she would have allowed him to get close enough for a full-on body hug, much less going further.

So it was interesting to say the least that Severus, of all people, had been the one to give her first insight into the intricacies of sex, as trite as it sounded. While it hurt unlike anything she had ever experienced, Hermione felt as if she were missing something, almost as if she'd done something wrong.

Or it might have been that she was simply over-thinking things, like usual, and merely needed to close her eyes and shut off her brain. Either way, she still felt anxious, and the fact that Severus hadn't said another word didn't help matters. She was beginning to think that he was having second thoughts about what they'd just done, an idea that made her even more discomfited.

But he hadn't sent her from his room, or moved away from her on the bed. That had to account for something...right?

Hermione had been lying on the bed with her head facing away from Severus when she felt him slip beneath the sheets, resting close enough that his side was against hers. While Hermione had trouble getting accustomed to Severus moving inside of her, she had enjoyed the feel of his naked skin pressed against hers.

Scooting closer until her back was against Severus', Hermione lay her head on his shoulder, gingerly moving her arm around him when he lay completely still.

It wasn't that Severus minded Hermione curling up against him; it was yet another thing that he had no experience with. Although he had to admit that the feel of her warm, soft body against him was most enjoyable. Hesitantly, he draped his arm over her waist, his fingertips lightly caressing the curve of her hip. Hermione apparently enjoyed his touch, because her breathing soon became more even, until she had fallen asleep.

Severus wasn't tired, but he would venture and say content; as content as one could be that had an armful of naked, pliable witch. A multitude of conflicting thoughts never stopped running through his cluttered head, and it wasn't as if he had forgotten about the circumstances leading to him and Hermione being together at Grimmauld Place. Yet he knew that thinking about everything at the moment would do nothing but rile him up, which would be a shame after the more pleasurable events of the past half hour.

He still felt a niggle of guilt for getting too carried away with Hermione, but he would have been a liar if he said that she didn't feel damned good squeezing and hugging him in a way that should have been illegal. Not that what they were doing was entire legal to begin with, at least perhaps not from a moral standpoint, depending on the questioning party's point-of-view.

The expression on her face afterwards led Severus to believe that Hermione was a bit uneasy, but he attributed it to whatever emotions that were usually tied in with first time sex. Which was another thing he was unable to speak of, considering that his first time seemed as if had taken place a million years ago. On top of that, he'd been almost detached during throughout the entire thing, and it hadn't lasted that long.

The witch had been older than him, and Lucius Malfoy had introduced the two, with the unspoken words that the witch was to go off with Severus for the night. He hadn't minded; she was easy on the eyes even if her vapid chatter was a nuisance. Only when the witch willingly bent her knees for him, did Severus find himself grateful that she had finally shut up. Once he'd had his fill of her-even to this day he could never remember her name-Severus had taken his leave, Apparating to his own home. He was sure that the witch had been irritated by his hasty departure, yet it hadn't mattered to him.

Hermione was a different matter altogether. Severus never stopped asking himself why the young witch chose to keep company with him, but at the moment that question was neither here nor there. He did feel some measure of responsibility for her, and not just because she was Potter's friend. He would daresay that his previous ideations about the witch had changed into something else.

Which was surely a bad idea in the long run.

Severus never planned on becoming attached to anyone. He was never given the opportunity to do so, and the one inkling he'd ever had about it, went horribly wrong. After that he resigned to keep to himself, knowing that if anything at least he wouldn't let himself down. Severus vowed to never let anyone hold that sort of power over him.

Up until now, he had been doing just fine. Then a certain bushy-haired swot whose voice tormented him for six years came too close for comforted, and the next thing Severus knew, he was being challenged by the young woman, something that surprised and amused him. Landing in bed with Hermione Granger had been the last thing Severus expected when he came to Grimmauld Place, but here they were, and he regretted nothing.

Right then Hermione sighed in her sleep, nuzzling her face against his chest as her arm tightened around his torso. The front part of her body where it pressed against his was warm, but her exposed back had grown cool, and Severus shifted slightly to arrange the duvet up to Hermione's shoulders. He couldn't help but scoffing to himself, wondering just at what point was it that the fledgling girl had managed to break through his defences.

Somewhat, at least. There were still things that he had to keep Hermione ignorant of, no matter how much she insisted that she would be able to handle it. Severus couldn't afford to make mistakes, and Hermione was one that he was not willing to take the chance with. Constantly tangling with a sadistic wizard who wanted to put an end to Muggle-borns was taxing, and Severus could not bear to have anyone else fall to harm, even if indirectly from his hand.

The off chance that someone might have found out about him and Hermione, Severus would have handled it the best way he knew how. But Voldemort finding out would have opened the proverbial can of worms, and he refused to let that happen. Yet if Severus thought that Hermione would have opened her mouth, there had been no way in hell that they would be lying in bed together-no matter how tempting the offer had been. He was no green lad, ready to toss all common sense to the wind for the sake of getting his cock wet.

Thinking back to said witches that had done just that for him, Severus frowned in distaste, remembering how most of them had irked him for one reason or another. Which was why he only visited them to have it off; nothing more, nothing less.

Surely Hermione would pine after something a little more substantial in the long run, assuming they would all make it through the year. Part of Severus wanted to be able to look towards the future, and the other part was trying to make it through each day. At least ever since the start of their secret meetings, Hermione hadn't followed him around with stars in her eyes like some lovesick schoolgirl. That was the last thing Severus needed. Her breath had definitely quickened when he was near, yet he was impressed when her face betrayed nothing while in the presence of her friends.

Shaking his head, Severus realised that he was giving himself a headache from being overly-analytical. Yet doing so was his nature and a habit that was hard to stop, but he forced himself to, shutting his eyes and focusing in on the quiet sounds of Hermione's steady breathing filling the room.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes, about to shift her weight until she realised that she was draped over a slim, warm body, wiry limbs entangled with hers. Slowly upturning her head, she saw that Severus was still asleep, his black hair fanned beneath his head on the pillow, his face slightly less severe looking compared to his waking hours.

His arm was still around her, and Hermione wondered if he'd left it like that the entire night, or if he moved at some point and embraced her again. Either way, she wasn't complaining.

The bedroom was cool with the absence of a fire at the hearth, and chilly morning air brushed against Hermione's face. Oddly enough, she was cocooned in the thick duvet and the rest of her felt quite cozy, although Severus had just the sheet draped over his form and riding low on his hips.

Hermione was able to get an eyeful of his bare chest that was right beneath her face. She was well familiar with the old scars mapped over his skin, as well as the narrow ribcage that was visible. But his pale skin was extremely soft beneath her fingertips, and there was even a small birthmark next to his left nipple. Just a tiny dot, big enough to make Hermione want to run her lips over it.

It seemed a bit comical that the wizard who was for the most part completely unapproachable and standoffish, to the point where he seemed like some other entity, had something so prosaic as a birthmark, just like any other person. Hermione's own was right above her left hipbone, and it was so small that sometimes she forgot it was there. She definitely didn't give it any thought then Severus first licked his way down her stomach, stopping at the apex of her thighs. The only thing she had been able to focus on was hands that firmly gripped onto her hips, and a hot, open mouth insistently making its way across the most sensitive part of her body.

Focusing on the lower part of her body, Hermione realized that she was no longer as achy as she'd been a few hours ago. She definitely planned on returning to Severus' room later that night, hoping that she would get a little more out of the next time. That was assuming there would be a next time. She still wasn't completely sure why Severus had seemed a bit withdrawn earlier.

Fussing inwardly when she felt the need for an early morning trip to relieve herself, Hermione was unwilling to slide from beneath Severus' arm. Her leg was tucked in between his, and she felt quite comfortable lying against him. When her bladder felt as if were about to reach breaking point, Hermione finally slipped out of bed, shivering as she made her way to the sofa to retrieve her nightgown. Turning around to look behind her, Hermione saw that Severus was still fast asleep, and she vowed to make a short trip to the bathroom. Making sure that the hallway was clear-the last thing she wanted to do was run into Kreacher, who had an odd habit of lurking about in the house-Hermione make quick work of relieving herself, rinsing the stale taste from her mouth, and then tiptoeing back into the bedroom.

The bedroom felt cold, and Hermione wondered if she should leave her nightgown on. It seemed a bit silly to take it off, as she was sure that she and Severus weren't about to do anything because of time constraints. Her watch had been left behind in her bedroom, but judging from the looks of the murky sunlight out of the curtained window in Severus' room, it was most likely close to ten o'clock.

Still, she climbed back into bed and lay against Severus, who still had his eyes closed.

Severus had actually been awake moments before Hermione left his side to go to the bathroom. His side felt cold and curiously absent without her lying there, and he was shocked to find that he wanted her to return. It had been different sleeping pressed against one another for the entire night. Different, yet somehow comforting.

He remained silent as Hermione's curly head slowly came to rest right beneath his, only giving away that he was awake by putting an arm around her shoulders.

Hermione was also speechless, more out of the fear of saying something that sounded ridiculous. But for the most part she felt at ease, even ifshe wondered how silly she looked with her cheek mashed against Severus' bare chest.

"I should probably go back to my room before Ron and Harry wake up," Hermione murmured, sounding as if she would rather stay where she was.

"Perhaps," Severus replied indifferently. His fingers had traveled from Hermione's shoulder up to the nape of her neck, and he was now idly stroking the shorter curls at the back of her head. His hand never moved out of place even after Hermione said that she should go, and that made it all the more harder for her to pull away from the wizard.

No longer able to ignore the little birthmark on his chest, Hermione lowered her face and brushed her lips against his skin.

"Should I come back later?" she asked, sitting up to find Severus curiously looking at her.

No one had ever kissed his chest before, and Severus had been thrown off when Hermione did.

"Do you want to?"

"Well...yes. That's why I'm asking."

"Oh? You never bothered to ask before, usually you just showed up. Why the sudden change of heart?"

Hermione's eyes widened right as she noticed the smug expression on Severus' face.

"Hah, hah," she dryly replied, shooting back a smirk of her own. Hermione then climbed out of bed, reclaiming her slippers and wand before walking to the door, giving Severus a little smile before slipping out of his room.

Once Hermione retreated to the privacy of her own room, she looked at her bed but found that she wasn't tired. Deciding that changing her clothes was in order, Hermione hurriedly bathed and changed into jeans and a simple cotton shirt. Barely giving thought to her hair, she merely pulled it back into a sloppy ponytail while making her way down the steps in aims of finding something to eat.

"Oh, good morning, Harry," she greeted, finding her friend alone in the kitchen. "Where's your doppelganger?"

Harry chuckled, his entire face lighting up in remembrance of him and Ron's wild night. "His lazy arse is still in bed. If he gets hungry enough, he'll come downstairs."

"So nice of you to talk about your friend that way," Hermione giggled, touching the kettle to find that it was still hot, then going through the motions of preparing a cup of tea. "It's so strange being in this house without everyone else traipsing in and out every other minute."

"I know," Harry agreed. "But at least it's quiet, and I don't have to stare into the piggy face of my cousin." Hermione had just take a sip of tea and snorted, flailing her hands wildly when it went up her nose.

"Harry!" she shrieked, laughing and cringing while wiping her face on her sleeve.

"What? It's not like I'm lying. You should see him, Hermione," Harry continued. "The morning I left Privet Drive, I wanted to tell Dudley that if he ate another rasher he was going to turn into a pig, no, a hog. A big, hairy hog with those big, pointy fangs."

"Harry!"

"Don't tell anyone, but-oh, never mind."

"What?"

"No no, Miss Morals, I'm not telling you. Forget I said anything."

"Ugh!" Hermione groaned, narrowing her eyes at her friend. "Fine, I won't tell. But honestly, with everything that's gone on in the past forty-eight hours, you should give me more credit."

"Hmm, I guess you have a point," Harry conceded. "Well anyway, the first time I met Hagrid, he gave Dudley a pig's tail. I never told anyone because Hagrid wasn't really supposed to be using magic outside of Hogwarts."

"Well I wouldn't want Hagrid to get into trouble, and I definitely won't tell, and I'm sure your cousin was positively frightened, but _that_ is hysterical! I can't believe he did that," Hermione laughed.

"Hmph, Dudley as well as his parents were scared, and I don't care," Harry replied with a slight hardness to his voice. "They made me sleep on a hard floor with this ratty, threadbare blanket, and didn't even bother to light the hearth. Then Hagrid came in, and he lit the fire and made me sausages, and my greedy cousin tried to eat them all. To hell with the hungry kid that didn't even have a proper meal from his so-called family on his birthday."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed sadly.

Sometimes Harry began ranting about the Dursleys', and usually she or Ron would try to cheer him up, but neither of them had experienced what was basically abuse by the hands of adults that were supposed to be caring for them. Hermione didn't blame Harry one bit for feeling the way he did, nor did she try to stop him. But when he went on like that, her soft-heartedness came out, and it made her want to cry.

"Okay," Harry said quietly, seeing how Hermione's face was beginning to crumple up. "I didn't mean for you to start crying. You know I can't stand seeing you cry."

"Alright, alright," Hermione sniffed, wiping away the tears that just popped up, using her sleeve once more.

"I made porridge if you want. Somehow the idea of eggs this morning wasn't that appealing," Harry told her, gesturing to a small pot behind the kettle.

"After drowning yourselves in Ogden's, I can understand why," Hermione snapped, although she did move to fix herself a bowl.

"Maybe we should tell Ron that Snape made it," Harry mused as Hermione put the first spoonful into her mouth. "Maybe we should tell him that he made all of our food; see how long he'd go without eating."

Hermione was rent between screaming and laughing, and ended up choking. Harry reached over to clap her on the back, grinning as she glared daggers at him.

"Why is it that whenever I put something into my mouth, you decided to become the court jester?"

"More like the jackass."

Hermione dropped her spoon into her porridge, the utensil landing with a soft thud.

"Harry James Potter, so help me, if I choke to death on this porridge, I'm coming back to haunt you for all of eternity. Moaning Mrytle'll have nothing on me by the time I'm through with you!" she fussed. "You think Ronald is a pest whenever you and Ginny go off to snog? You haven't seen anything yet, I promise you. You'll go right in for a kiss, and all of a sudden my head is going to pop up right between your puckered faces."

"See now, what's Ginny ever done to you?" Harry grinned.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione shot back. "It's a package deal. If I bother you, I bother her."

"Well if you decide to become a ghost, make sure you ask Dumbledore to set aside a girls' toilet for you to haunt."

Hermione shook her head, tucking back into her porridge. "You're an idiot. If you're going back up, check on Ron to make sure he's still breathing. If he doesn't wake up, hold one of his dirty socks beneath his nose; Fred showed me that trick once. I was surprised when it actually worked."

Harry had just gotten up from the table, beaming widely when he heard Hermione's suggestion. "I wasn't planning on waking him up, but now I have to see if that sock trick works," he laughed, walking out of the kitchen.

Once she was alone, Hermione distractedly finished the rest of her porridge, thinking about her planned meeting with Severus later that night. She also thought it silly of Harry to think that she would tell on Hagrid for breaking the rules. Hermione knew that she would have had to brand herself with a flaming red capital 'H' for hypocrite, taking into account her own ever-growing list of fodder. But even so, she wouldn't have told on Hagrid. Secretly she was pleased about his little prank on Dudley. Hermione hadn't the misfortune of meeting him, but stories from Harry about his cousin had been enough to paint a clear picture of his character as well as his sloppy stature.

Porridge now finished, Hermione got up to wash her mug and bowl. A low muttering from outside the kitchen door told on a snarling Kreacher, who was skulking past, complaining about everything as usual. Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring the surly house-elf.

* * *

The rest of her day passed uneventfully. She never saw Snape come out of his room, but the vanished meals she'd left out for him told that he had come downstairs at some point. Ron also showed face, still looking as rumpled as he had the day before. Thankfully he was in a subdued mood, and never complained once when the three spent a quiet evening in the drawing room.

Refusing to wait for Ron to monopolize the bathroom again, Hermione went upstairs before both boys, forcing herself to linger over a hot bath. She had been restless all day, merely giving off the appearance that she had been reading a book, when she was really staring off into space, thinking about a certain black-haired wizard.

Hermione had grown aroused more times than she could count, and by the time she undressed to get into the bathtub, her knickers were damp and sticky. It had been uncomfortable sitting between Ron and Harry while between her legs prickled incessantly, making her want to rock against the sofa. She actually did rub against the sofa cushions, and Ron, of all times, chose right then to be Mr Suddenly-Aware-Of-My-Surroundings, and asked why she was being so fidgety. Hermione ended up slapping him on the back of his head with her book but made sure to keep still afterwards.

Once the bathwater had grown tepid, Hermione finally got out and took her time drying off. Dressing and walking out of the bathroom, she listened closely to see if Ron and Harry had come upstairs. They were both in their respective bedrooms, obviously still awake. Sighing, Hermione was on the way to hers when her leg hit something soft, causing her to scream and fall facedown onto the carpet, narrowly missing the top of a cursing Kreacher's head.

Bedroom doors banged opened when Hermione's shrill voice, Kreacher's snarling, and then much to everyone's annoyance, the portrait of Mrs Black, rang throughout the hallway.

"Hermione, what happened?" Harry asked, rushing over to help her up.

"I almost tripped over Kreacher!" she yelped, rubbing at her elbow that throbbed from smacking against the floor.

"Kreacher, did you try to trip Hermione?" Harry asked, rounding on the now bowing house-elf.

"Kreacher would never trip the nasty little Mudblood," he croaked in an oily voice.

"You watch your filthy mouth!" Ron fumed, fighting back the urge to kick Kreacher in his knobby little legs.

"I'm fine, I'm alright," Hermione said, trying to placate the two that kept fussing over her. Mrs Black's portrait still hadn't stopped yelling, her piercing voice growing louder and louder.

"Oh, what in bloody hell, now that things going!" Ron shouted, clapping his hands over both ears to drown out the noise.

"A lot of good that'll do!" Hermione yelled, trying to pull out her own wand while keeping the other hand pressed on one ear.

"Harry, _I HATE YOUR HOUSE-ELF!_" Ron shouted again as Harry swore underneath his breath, snapped at Kreacher to go downstairs and stay there, and then proceeded to yank his wand out of his pocket and sprint down the steps. Kreacher didn't even bother walking downstairs; he merely sneered at Harry before Disapparating with a _pop._ Just then Snape appeared out of nowhere, wand in hand and a blur of black as he whizzed past the three teens, gliding down the staircase and sweeping ahead of them all.

Where it had usually taken a collaborative effort of Ron, Harry, and Hermione to wrench the curtains over the bemoaning portrait, and then another effort to silence it, Snape managed to do so all within a minute. When silence finally reigned, Snape turned and walked back up the steps with an utmost air of smugness. Pocketing his ebony wand, he looked right into the faces of the three who were still stood at the topmost landing, frozen with shock by the fact that Snape had been able to subdue the portrait with such ease. The boys were clearly uncomfortable with the Potions master standing so closely to them, yet it was obvious that Snape was enjoying violating their personal space. Ron's freckled face pulled into a frown, Harry's bright-green eyes were wide behind their black frames, and Hermione was still cringing as she kept rubbing her elbow.

Snape stopped right in front of Harry, staring down his beaked nose at the young man.

"Potter. I suggest you control your house-elf," he snapped, turning on his heel and walking away before Harry was able to part his lips to utter a reply.

"A real force to be reckoned with, I tell you," Ron griped, still shuddering from Snape staring him down. "Well, at least that's over with. Sure you're all right?" he asked Hermione.

"Yes," she answered. "Besides my elbow but that's nothing. Thanks you two; think I'll turn it before something else happens."

"Good idea," Harry replied, telling Hermione goodnight as she walked off to her room.

_Damn!_ Hermione fumed. She wondered what it said about her mental status that the fact she had nearly taken a nose-dive because of Harry's elf no longer phased her. Hermione was more worried about having to wait around longer before sneaking up to Severus' room. She didn't know what the hell Kreacher meant by lurking outside of the bathroom, but one never knew bizarre house-elf. The most she tried to do was stay out of his way, and keep her bedroom door locked whether she was in it or not.

Heaving a sigh, she curled up in her armchair with a book, killing time until she was certain that her two friends had gone to bed.

* * *

It was another thirty minutes before Severus heard soft footsteps coming in his direction. He'd never gotten undressed, and had been perched in his armchair, twirling around the phial that Hermione had given him the night before.

He was shocked by the gesture, but of course there had been more pressing things at the moment, and he vowed to leave all ruminations of her small gift for a less trying time. Waiting for her made him a bit restless, and it was that point when his eyes had fallen upon the crystal phial, still on the bedside table where he'd originally left it.

Virgins' blood wasn't a rare ingredient, nor was it exactly something commonly found. Any Potions master or apothecary stockist worth their salt knew just when to procure said ingredient; however most were greedy, only clutching after Galleons and obtaining poor substitutes. It mattered not to anyone selling it so long as they got their money, but it was the unsuspecting customer that landed with the short end of the stick.

Without a doubt there was no substitute for the phial in his hands. Hermione was just seventeen, which meant that her magical abilities had matured from a child's to an adult's. It was that precarious time in which the properties of her blood were most potent, and he was impressed that she was privy to such information. Even more poignant, was the fact that she had willingly given it to him.

Use of blood involving certain spells or potions were almost always risky, because there was no definite outcome. There were countless stories of spells gone wrong because of a wrongly obtained ingredient. Most often such occurrences were only heard of with more advanced magic, and admittedly darker spells. Because Hermione had willingly shared a part of herself with Severus, meant that only he would be able to use her blood in any way he saw fit.

Slightly shocked, and damned curious as to how Hermione knew about blood magic, Severus shook his head, knowing that the clever girl was very similar to him in terms of books; living, breathing, and eating if it were possible, written word.

A gentle tapping at his door broke his reverie, and Severus rose and walked over to let Hermione in. She glanced at him, appearing somewhat nervously, and then her eyes when to the phial still in his hand.

"Very clever, Miss Granger," he smirked, tapping his forefinger against the cork. Without saying another word on the topic, Severus shut and locked the door, motioning for Hermione to sit on the sofa. She still had on those horrid pink slippers, and in lieu of a nightgown an oversized shirt and pyjama bottoms. "So do you intend on going forth with your house-elves rights project, despite the fact that Potter's nasty little elf tried to kill you tonight?"

Hermione frowned at Severus, watching as he set the phial down before sitting down next to her.

"Kreacher did not try to kill me," she protested.

"_Au contraire,_ Miss Granger. I thought you were brighter than that; surely you don't think he was lurking out in the hallway for no reason?"

A knowing look lie in the dark eyes behind the hair curtaining Severus' face, and Hermione decided that he was probably right, and she shouldn't even bother second-guessing someone that clearly knew more than she.

"Fine, so Kreacher has it in for me. Now what?"

"Don't be flippant. You may have forgotten who that wretched thing once belonged to, but I haven't. Merely pay closer attention to your surroundings, and if you notice anything that's even more out of the ordinary, let the Boy Wonder know. Kreacher has to listen to him."

"All right," Hermione conceded.

"I mean it, Miss Granger. Your wishy-washy 'Kreacher is harmless' attitude won't help you if he has ulterior motives. That goes for everything else; it's time you open your eyes and see things for what they really are."

"Yes, sir," she mumbled, lowering her head with embarrassment, feeling like a five-year-old that had just been chastised. Hermione's senses had been reeling from the moment she left her bedroom to go to Severus'. She hadn't anticipated being given a talking-to as if she was the one that had done something wrong, and her emotions were a bit conflicted.

"Come here," Severus told , interrupting her train of thought.

Moving closer to him on the sofa, Hermione was agreeable when Severus pulled her onto his lap, making her sit with her back against his chest. He was still completely buttoned up in his black frock coat, and each time Severus moved Hermione felt the small buttons pressing into her skin, the only barrier between it being her thin shirt. The long row of buttons on the front of his coat pressed into the length of her spine, yet it wasn't uncomfortable.

Severus had been irritated by the earlier interruption, as he was eager for their evening to begin. Now he wanted to hear the young witch become just a bit unraveled before they got right to it. Hermione's hair had been pulled back into a sloppy plait, and Severus tugged the elastic off from the end of her ponytail, intent on setting her wild curls free.

Long fingers briefly massaged the back of Hermione's neck before delving further up, insinuated the pads of his fingers against her scalp. Hermione immediately let out a soft moan as her head fell back onto Severus' shoulder. The motion instantly relaxed her and she didn't bother complaining when he pulled his hand away from her head, slipping both arms around her waist. More quiet moans escaped as his hands roamed over her stomach and breasts, first over her shirt until Severus tugged the thin cotton out of his way.

The air was cool on her bared skin but Severus' hands were warm, and they cupped her breasts, toying with the erect nipples until Hermione was squirming in his lap. Keeping one hand on her breasts, Severus slid the other down Hemione's stomach, tracing along the waistband of her pyjama bottoms before slipping it beneath them and her knickers.

"Anxious, were we, Miss Granger?" his deep voice whispered tauntingly as a long finger easily met the slickness between her legs.

"_Her-mi-o-nee," _she breathlessly implored. "I already know my last name."

"Indeed you do, _Hermione,_" Severus retorted salaciously, moving his finger from her entrance and up to her clit. Hermione flinched at the contact, but soon grew relaxed when he began tracing little circles around the sensitive bud.

Hermione almost didn't care if he were to call her his favorite sobriquet, know-it-all, at the moment. So long as he continued massaging her clitoris in those oh-so-perfect little circles, Severus could say whatever he wanted and she would listen.

Her moans became sharper when the arm across her torso tightened, the other arm moving lower between her legs. Hermione's legs were draped and spread wide over Severus' thighs, positioning her body at a good angle to allow Severus to touch her.

And touch her he did.

His slender middle and ring fingers pressed up inside of her, while the heel of his palm was flush against her clit. Hermione was amazed that within such a short frame of time, her arousal doubled, and she was soon grinding her hips against his hand, frantic with the need to come.

Within minutes Hermione was reduced to whimpering and thrashing about, her juices flowing freely against Severus' palm. The more she rocked her hips, the harder his palm ground into the top of her cleft, until her walls clamped down and pulsated around Severus' fingertips.

It hadn't taken long for Hermione to reach her peak, and when she did, she threw her head back, her curls draping over Severus' shoulder and brushing against the underside of his face. Needing something to hold onto, her hands had clutched onto his thighs, retaining their tenuous hold until the waves of pleasure subsided.

Severus removed his hand from her knickers, and with a long sigh, Hermione slumped back against him, her hands falling away from his trousers. She hadn't outright screamed, yet the way she shuddered in his arms easily said that her climax had been strong. It took a moment of shuffling about, and Severus pushed Hermione forward, slipping her shirt over her head and tugging at the pyjama bottoms, indicating for her to remove them.

"Get into bed," Hermione heard Severus tell her in a hushed tone, jostling her slightly so she would stand up.

Unsteadily getting to her feet, Hermione pushed her pyjamas and knickers down her legs, paying no attention as to where they ended up. Climbing into bed, Hermione moved up by the headboard, watching intently as Severus made short work of undressing. She felt his erection when she was in his lap, and eagerly waited for him to remove his trousers and pants.

When he was finally naked as Hermione, Severus joined her on the bed, moving some of the pillows away from the headboard and pushing her to lie flat. Hermione felt acutely aware of everything as Severus insinuated himself between her thighs, reaching down to grasp his cock. Dragging it over her clitoris a few times, he positioned himself at her entrance, yet refrained from moving forward.

Hermione still hadn't forgotten about the day before, and was visibly nervous as she waited for Severus to push his way inside her. Swallowing hard as he caged her head in with his forearms, Hermione inhaled sharply when Severus began moving slowly against her, his dark eyes boring into hers. Her muscles burned slightly as she was stretched and filled, and desperately needing to hold onto something, Hermione clutched onto his back. Holding her breath and waiting for the pain again, she found that things were easier this time, and gradually her fingers loosened their vice-grip.

"Better?" Severus asked when Hermione let out a small moan, the look on her face betraying everything.

"Mm-hmm," she hummed, slowly losing the ability to form coherent thoughts or sentences.

_Oh, Merlin, much better,_ Hermione told herself, her eyes lazily sliding shut as Severus picked up the pace. What once hurt and made her feel tense and uncomfortable now felt unbelievably good. Severus was moving slowly enough to not overwhelm her, yet fast enough that it made her crave more. She still felt him right in the pit of her stomach, unable to keep from flinching when he thrust a bit too deeply, but for the most part Hermione felt her insides turning to mush.

Severus was relieved that Hermione no longer pulled away from him with each thrust. She started off as being quiet, perhaps from feeling self-conscious at releasing sounds of passion. Yet her heavy breathing gave away the fact that she was finally enjoying herself.

Heavy breathing turned into low moans, and low moans culminated to broken cries and desperate whimpers. Hermione felt like one big bundle of nerves, being continuously stroked and prodded until she was positive that she would go mad. With a frenzied need to feel more of Severus, Hermione dug her knees in his hips, urging him to go faster. When that didn't work, she wrapped her legs around his lower back, arching her hips up to met his every thrust.

Severus had his eyes closed, and briefly opened them to look down at Hermione when she began pulling against him. Her mouth was gaped open, and whenever she wasn't moaning, she kept biting down on her lip. Nothing that came from her mouth sounded remotely coherent, and Severus took that as a good sign.

He was on the brink of losing his head from continuously driving into Hermione's trembling body. She felt hot and tight and the slick juices of her arousal were all over his shaft. A choked sounding "don't stop" was all it took for him to keep burying himself to the hilt, his hips pumping relentlessly until Hermione finally broke apart into a shuddering mess, keening loudly and digging her fingers into his shoulders as her walls pulsated around his cock. Severus found himself having to stop, as Hermione's climax had nearly set off his own too early.

Hermione was on the tail end of her orgasm when she felt Severus slow down. "Why did you stop?" she whined impatiently, her brown eyes accusingly glaring at him.

"I'm trying to make this last, if you must know," Severus replied, brushing his lips against Hermione's before kneeling upright. He definitely wanted to make up for her first lackluster experience, but if the little witch wanted more, he would give her more.

Clutching onto Hermione's thighs, Severus began a relentless pounding, rolling, and thrusting of his hips that made Hermione's voice go several pitches higher as her back reflexively arched up. Reduced to screaming and clawing at the duvet, Hermione ignored the fact that her curls had somehow gotten trapped beneath her head and were being pulled at the roots, or that her skin was slickened with sweat.

Her moans and screams were raw, unpracticed, and completely free of artifice, something that aroused Severus immensely. Each stroke yielded a slightly different sound, until Hermione's face was contorted with a sensuous agony. Her nails nearly sounded as if they were on the verge of shredding the duvet apart when her body tipped over the edge again.

Trying to hold back lest he explode, Severus slowed down again, but this time his cock ached painfully with the need for release. His black hair hung in damp strings around his face, and beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.

Hermione was blissfully ignorant of anything else at that moment; all she knew was that Severus had allowed her to go over once more, but she wanted to feel it again without him stopping. She didn't give a damn how wanton or desperate she looked. Lowering her legs back to the bed, she anchored her feet flat against the mattress, raising her hips higher and clamoring for Severus to continue.

That first thrust at the new angle made her eyes fly open, and she saw that Severus was staring down at her, his dark eyes heavy-lidded and focused on her heaving chest.

"Oh-oh my god!" she gasped, her eyes rolling to the back of her head when Severus ground his hips in circles against hers, making his cock brush right against her g-spot, the coarse black hair covering his pubic bone pressing flush against her clit.

Hermione began a litany of 'Severus', alternating between 'right there' and 'don't stop'. Her body shook from holding herself up in the awkward position, yet it was the perfect angle for Severus to continuously aim at that sensitive spot.

Feeling her limbs trembling against his, Severus grabbed two handfuls of Hermione's clenched arse, his fingers digging into her skin and pulling her back to meet each lunge. He was glad that he'd used two strong silencing charms before she arrived at his room, as Hermione was no longer able to put forth the effort of putting a lid on her cries.

"Don't stop, Severus, please don't stop!" Hermione begged, feeling pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in her belly. A chill washed over her, making her skin break out into goose bumps from head to toe, followed by a quivering that started in her abdomen and worked its way throughout the rest of her limbs.

All the while Severus continued with that inexorable thrusting, completely enthralled by the sight of Hermione methodically coming apart at the seams once more. If his fingers were pressing too deeply into her skin, Hermione never said so. The only thing she could focus on was the last bit of her resolve completely crumbling by the hand-rather, cock- of Severus Snape.

A hitch in Hermione's breath interrupted her shrill moans, and although she went silent for a second, the shaking in her limbs became so fierce that she nearly jackknifed out of Severus' grasp. When her voice returned it was to let out a feral scream as she finally lost complete control of her body.

By then Severus knew he no longer stood a chance against lasting for another five minutes. Hastily lowering Hermione's still shuddering form to the bed, he covered her body with his, both of them furiously clutching onto one another as he continued his relentless pounding.

Tears leaked from Hermione's eyes, and she clung onto Severus' sweat dampened back, positive that she would expire on the spot if not for clinging to him. She had nearly screamed her throat raw, yet it didn't stop another fresh round of cries when she reached her peak again. Dimly registering that she kept profusely apologizing for yelling in Severus' ear, Hermione's words were cut off when his mouth descended upon hers, drinking in the last of her moans.

Later on Hermione would muse over the fact that Severus made much less noise than her, the only sounds escaping his mouth ranging between heavy breathing and deep grunts. So when she heard that deep voice in her ear, telling her to come for him again as Severus continued fucking her into the sheets, Hermione did just that, clinging to him with arms and legs, her ragged moans becoming lost into the side of his neck.

Long fingers were tangled in her damp hair, their grasp becoming more frantic the faster Severus moved. Finally he let out a deep moan that didn't match the length of Hermione's, yet surely matched its intensity. Hermione was completely worn out, but the sound of Severus losing control made her shiver, and the feel of him trembling against her as he spilled inside of her body was something she wanted to experience many times over.

The two were still breathing heavily minutes after collapsing into a boneless heap on the bed. Severus remained on top of Hermione, his deflated cock still tucked inside of her warm, lightly throbbing body. He didn't feel like moving, and apparently neither did Hermione, because she kept her arms wrapped around his back, even though her legs were limp against his.

Damp black hair mingled with her disheveled curls, Severus' stick-straight strands tickling her cheek. Yet Hermione was in such a stupor that she couldn't have moved a hand to push his hair back if she wanted to.

A part of Severus told him to get the hell off Hermione, that he was too heavy to remain on her like so. But when her small hands began to gently caress his back, he vowed that a few minutes wouldn't hurt, especially since the witch wasn't complaining.

Yet, thirty minutes later found the two still in the same position, both fast asleep.

* * *

_**So I was told to tell you all by musicalkilljoy...that the birthmark is REAL and if any of you are Rickmaniacs, you can actually look at the picture. She threatened to paddle my ass unless I added the birthmark, and being the sick, twisted screw that I am, how could I say no? ;)**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: Sooo, I haven't even replied to the reviews of the last chapter because a wench named Hurricane Sandy came into town and messed stuff up all over NY (where I am) NJ, and a slew of other places. Power was out and all of that mess, but everyone is fine on my end. Sadly I can't say the same for a lot of other families. I spoke to a few of you via pm and thank you for the concern! I hope everyone else that was affected is okay. I had everyone in my thoughts.**_

_**But on a lighter note, I will STILL be replying to those reviews, because I get a kick out of talking filth to all of you lovely people, and I love it when you dirty talk back, roar! Hope you enjoy this chapter, sorry the last one was late! Now come on, let's see some more of those reviews and naughty talk, you all know what I like ;)**_

* * *

Snape awoke with a start, feeling something soft and warm weighing down his chest. Only when he opened his eyes did he take notice of the top of a frizzy-curled head beneath his nose, the messy strands tickling it and his chin.

He had nearly forgotten that the young witch was in his bed, and it was a good thing that his memory was instantly refreshed, else things might not have been so good for her. Snape still wasn't used to someone sleeping next to him, especially considering that the illicit presence belonged to Hermione Granger.

At some point throughout the night, Hermione ended up completely draped over Snape, using the wizard's thin chest as her pillow. It was evident that she'd been lying in the position for some time, as her cheek felt almost scalding against him, and if she were to move her head they would most likely peel apart.

Feeling her body rise and fall with each intake of breath, Snape found that his hand was right between her shoulder blades, a tangle of curls draped over it and his forearm. He had no problem with remaining in their intimate position, yet his fit-to-bursting bladder said otherwise. Plucking Hermione's hair away from his lips and slipping from beneath her arm, Severus collected his wand and moved out of bed, forgoing underpants as he stepped into his trousers.

It was still early; too early for anyone to be awake. Still, Snape was in and out of the bathroom, quickly returning to his room. Hermione had turned over onto her back yet was still asleep, her arms and legs were fanned out and draped over on his side of the bed.

Kicking off his trousers and getting back into bed, Snape moved Hermione's arm from his pillow, folding it across her abdomen. She never moved or opened an eye, merely inhaling deeply and raising both arms above head. The rumpled sheets were twisted about and low on her hips, leaving her upper body exposed.

When Hermione raised both of her arms up to loosely hug the pillow beneath her, it was nearly akin to a subconscious effort at completely opening herself to Severus. Her small, girlish breasts rode high on her chest, the dark pink nipples puckering slightly when they touched cool air.

Severus had perched on his side, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of Hermione's outstretched body next to him. Like a child that was trying to steal a biscuit off a plate, Severus reached over to Hermione, unable to resist cupping one of those small mounds in his hand. Intently watching her face, Hermione's eyes never faltered, and she remained asleep, even after Severus' thumb brushed against her nipple.

He felt like the worst sort of lecher, molesting the naked girl in the midst of sleep. But damn if her body wasn't tempting him. Severus found himself completely drawn to the witch. It wasn't as if he'd ever found himself contemplating what lie beneath the shapeless, oversized school robes, or those horrid striped jumpers that she seemed to own so many of. But there was definitely something about Hermione lying naked next to him, so vulnerable in her sleep and open for his taking, that it lured the wizard in.

Continuing to palm and knead her left breast, Severus also took the time to completely look at the witch. It had been different when she was awake, as Hermione had an uncanny habit of staring directly back at him, as if she had no fear. Severus didn't want her to be scared of him, yet he still had trouble getting used to being completely disrobed in front of Hermione, especially beneath the weight of her curious brown eyes.

In the dim morning light he was unable to see the smatter of freckles that were across her nose. Hermione's perfectly formed lips were slightly parted, and Severus let go of her breast to trace one long finger over her cupid's bow, moving onto the full curve of her bottom lip. Trailing a path down to her throat, his hand curling around the slender column of flesh, Severus let his thumb slip into the hallowed notch at the base of her throat, traveling alone the line of her softly jutting collarbone.

Severus hadn't been lying when he said that he didn't notice the prominent angry-looking scar that marred Hermione's otherwise unblemished skin. It was obvious that she became very uncomfortable whenever she thought he was looking at it, but Severus had so many of his own scars that even Hermione's long singular one didn't faze him.

He let his fingers travel along the length of that scar, trailing over to where it ended down on her slender ribcage. Shaking his head, Severus found himself becoming disgusted. It was one thing for his own peers to have to fight a battle that had begun even before Hermione and her friends were born, but to have children being subjected to the cruelness of the dark side was unconscionable. Hermione shouldn't have that scar across her chest, just like she nor her friends should have had to fight the Death Eaters down in the bowels of the Ministry. None of the students should have had to fall beneath the sadistic whims of the pig-faced, pink covered Umbridge. Each occurrence was anything but moot, and they were all just the tip of the iceberg.

Severus had fought long and hard to keep Umbridge from outright killing the students, most often at great peril to himself had his position been discovered. While he knew that it was best everyone know what they were up against, knowing about what had gone on behind the walls of Hogwarts was just a prelude to the madness; there had been no question about it-the Dark Lord would do far worse then use blood-letting quills on children. Voldemort held no sense of decency, and thought nothing of maiming and killing children purely in the name of his twisted plans.

Hermione had been just one another casualty, and Snape was sorry to say that she'd gotten off easy. A curse that left her with a ugly scar was by far a less severe repercussion considering some of the more horrific things he viewed with his own eyes. He had in fact witnessed Hermione crying when she thought no one was looking, curled up in the corner of Hogwarts' library, clutching her angry-red scarred hand to her chest as silent tears poured down her cheeks, falling onto the pages of their vulture-like librarian's precious books.

The girl accepted a punishment that had been borne out of an attempt to help and protect others. Even then he'd been unable to take his eyes off the young witch that bore her pain in silence, yet fought with her friends anyway, despite knowing the danger they were walking into. Severus had seen the fear in her eyes, all the while the rest of her face remained unperturbed.

He didn't know whether to berate Granger for her foolishness, or applaud her for her bravery.

A brave fool or not, it was obvious that she was fighting for her life, as well as her friends'. To be so young and have such ideals impressed him, especially when long before the Golden Trio had ever come to Hogwarts, Snape faced a definite uncertainty, not knowing what the future held. He still didn't know, and optimism had never been a word in his vocabulary.

While he would never actually verbalize it, time and time again Snape had wondered if he was going to come out of his double-life in one piece. In the off chance that he didn't get killed, he knew that he would never be normal, relatively speaking at least. Who the hell could live a normal life after experiencing the horrors he had, day in and out?

Whatever was the reason for Hermione's tenaciousness, it was surely something to be commended. While he did his best to protect the three teenagers as well as countless others, all without their knowledge, Severus was growing weary, mentally if not physically.

Hermione turned her head again, this time facing Severus. Sighing softy in her sleep, her head settled in the nest of thick curls gathered at her shoulder. It was amazing to him the way the little witch always looked so peaceful, so unaffected in the midst of her slumber. A part of him hoped that she would always retain a bit of that innocence, which so many managed to lose as a result of growing older and becoming jaded at life in general. Of course, that calm face had the ability to turn up and sneer with the best of them, but Severus sincerely hoped that Hermione wouldn't come out of it all with a bitter countenance.

Hermione mumbled incoherently, and Severus was about to move his hand from her chest when she fell silent again. Resuming his caresses, he traced along the line of her narrow rib cage, his fingertips sliding between the shallow grooves of each rib. Hermione's warm skin prickled beneath his touch, the downy hair covering her skin rising to attention.

Feeling almost drunk from merely touching the witch, Severus moved his hand lower, spanning his palm over her soft, flat stomach, pausing once to dip his middle finger into her navel.

Could he remember touching anything so soft? It felt nearly criminal to drag his Potions-calloused hands across her delicate skin. On top of that, he felt like a twisted somnophiliac, becoming aroused as he continued to caress a sleeping Hermione. He didn't want to stop, desperate to let his hand slide down the rounded curve of her abdomen and settle at the small, sparse triangle of hair covering her sex.

But Severus refused to go that far, preferring to have Hermione's coherent approval before taking such liberties. Touching her breasts and stomach wasn't all that different, yet Severus resolved to keep his hand above her waist, unless she awoke and bade for him to touch her, in which case he would gladly stroke and tease Hermione's delicate flesh until she was begging for more.

The little bud of her clitoris was one of his favorite parts to touch. When it became engorged it peeked from beneath its reddened hood, poking out and begging to be kissed and licked. Severus had been only too happy to oblige, as the sight of that little knob was pure torment.

A spell that he had never used but was familiar with suddenly came to mind. Moving closer, Severus held the tip of his wand above Hermione's chest, non-verbally placing the spell upon her. It was a few minutes before she gave the faintest of reactions, the tiniest furrow appearing between her eyebrows, giving away that something was happening.

His magic was powerful enough that he could have said the spell aloud or cast it non-verbally, and either way would have given the same effect. Lowering the wand to her stomach, Severus continued to watch as Hermione began a slow writhing, tossing her head back and forth against the pillow.

Because she was asleep, Severus knew that she wouldn't be able to put a name as to what was happening to her, but the closest description of the spell was akin to little flickers of pleasure, not unlike a warm tongue or fingers caressing against wherever the caster directed.

Previously Severus had no use for the spell, but he had watched it being performed on a fully-clothed witch, by a wizard in a place that had been created for those who had different tastes when it came sex. The witch had all but come apart at the seams, begging to be allowed to reach her release, and each time she was about to go over the edge, the wizard pulled back his wand. The witch proceeded to beg and scream and plead, clutching onto the sides of the table that she'd been strapped down onto.

Severus hadn't wanted to visit that paragon of baseness, but had done so anyway, merely to assuage and form some sort of common ground with the wizards that he'd gone around with after graduating from Hogwarts.

After the festivities were over with, most of the men had gone off with their witch for the night, something that Severus refused to partake in. He did, however, seek out the wizard that he'd watched earlier, hating to be beholden to anyone yet asking him about the spell anyway. The wizard had been a coarse sort of gentleman yet finely dressed, and was eager to share his knowledge. He'd also let his ice-blue eyes rove over Severus' black-robed form, as if wondering if the young man would be willing to spend a couple hours with him. Before he could utter the thought, Severus curtly thanked him and walked away.

Like always, Severus thoroughly researched the spell, finding ways to tweak it until it suited him. He'd only shared it with one other person, Lucius Malfoy, who reported that it worked perfectly-almost too perfectly. His wife had enjoyed herself so much that she'd nearly been too worn out for her husband.

That had been well over ten years ago. But judging by the way Hermione was thrashing about, the spell obviously was still highly effective.

Her nipples were now two tightly puckered little buds, and the young witch kept arching her back, thrusting her torso into the air as if it were able to give her some sort of reprieve. Hermione had been quiet for the most part, merely wriggling about, causing the sheet to become trapped beneath her and fall mid-thigh. Yet when the dark length of wood in Severus' hand moved over those clenched thighs, did a soft moan escape from her lips.

A burlesque dancer or the like would have known how to smoothly move her body to her advantage. Yet that didn't matter; Hermione's inexperienced gyrating was more than enough for Severus to become immensely aroused, and soon his erect cock was brushing against his thigh.

Hermione's back remained pressed against the mattress, but still deep in the throes of her agitated stupor, her hips continued arching up, the muscles in her belly, thighs and arse clenching and releasing as though she were ready for the torment to end.

Magically-induced strokes continued to wash over her flushed skin. The triangle of hair between her legs was visible through the dim lighting, and Severus lowered his wand until it was inches away from the short curls, allowing his spell to manifest itself into her most intimate parts.

Almost immediately Hermione let out a broken sob, and she went limp against the mattress. Even with the duvet covering the rest of her legs, Severus could tell that Hermione's feet were rubbing against the bed and trying to find purchase, as her hands were doing the same around the pillow beneath her head.

He was amazed that she hadn't woken up by that point, as the spell was obviously working its magic, growing stronger with each pass of his wand. One last pass that went from Hermione's neck down to her thighs was all it took for the spell to linger until Severus removed it. The throbbing in his groin became more intense as he watched Hermione writhing and mewling about, their arousal almost matching in intensity.

_Shit, _he thought, realizing that the spell had backfired against him.

Severus didn't know what compelled him to use the archaic spell on the unsuspecting young witch, but one thing was for sure-he wanted to wake her up by parting those trembling thighs and sliding into her slick heat. But that was too close to taking her without Hermione giving him permission. True, it was bad enough that he was using magic on her without her knowledge, but even Severus, who had done some questionable things in his time, had limits.

By then Hermione had kicked the sheet completely off her body, and had her head thrown back, baring the delicate curve of her neck and the swell of her breast. She was feverishly mumbling, her words soon growing more coherent. It was almost as if Hermione was having an intense erotic dream, judging by the way she kept stringing together nonsensical words, the only thing understood being _yes!_ and Severus' name.

Severus resolved to keep his wand in hand, hoping that it would force him to keep him from outright touching Hermione. But the temptation was great; if he was unable to sink into her soft heat, then at the very least he wanted to wrap his lips around one of those pebbled nipples.

She was now slowly thrusting her hips as if her body was actually being filled, her moans becoming less hushed and more lustful. If Hermione became any louder she would wake up the rest of the house, and most likely herself, and Severus would have had to explain just how she'd gotten under the influence of the erotic spell.

The next forceful push of Hermione's hips into the air was Severus' undoing. Letting his wand fall somewhere among the rumpled bed clothes, he hovered by Hermione's side, letting one hand smooth over her trembling stomach, gliding up to cup each breast and play with both nipples. Hermione still never opened her eyes, but seemed to gain a bit of relief from his touch, as her desperate whimpers somewhat settled down.

_Just one little touch, _he told himself, painstakingly sliding his fingertips along Hermione's body, until he met the cleft between her legs. All it took was a brief upstroke to feel the moisture seeping from her entrance and clinging to her outer lips, threatening to leave a generous-sized wet spot on the bed.

Quietly groaning when he brought his hand to his mouth, getting a strong whiff of the sweet musk before licking Hermione's juices from his fingers, Severus continued to pluck and tweak her nipples, all the while taking his cock into the other hand.

There was no way in hell that he would be able to go to sleep with the almost painful erection. Although Severus knew he probably deserved it, seeing as how he'd been the one to cast the spell on Hermione. All the while she continued arching her body up to meet his hand, thrusting her breasts into the warm, calloused palm that cupped the soft flesh.

The tighter Severus gripped his fist around his cock, the more voraciously his other hand moved over Hermione's torso until she was trembling from head to toe. Her moans were getting louder, and Severus knew that he had two options-either end the spell or cover her mouth.

Opting for the latter, he ran his hand over Hermione' s bared neck, allowing his fingertips to brush her chin before pressing a tapered forefinger between her lips. Almost immediately did she clamp down on the lone digit, wrapping her lips and tongue around it. Soft lips pursed and tongue moving around his finger just like they had done to his cock only the day before, Snape felt his knees buckle from the unexpected yet intense sensation.

For a man that had what he deemed to be enough experience when it came to matters of the flesh, he was thoroughly flummoxed by the fact that Hermione was able to throw him off balance with her novice touches. Even worse was the fact that she was unaware of what she was doing.

Severus knew that he had been right on point to put a partial stopper in Hermione's loud cries as her body was trembling against him, obviously on the edge of reaching climax. It was an erotic sight to behold, watching the young witch teetering ever so precariously on the brink of release, all by the sole benefit of wand work.

The faster he stroked himself, the more Severus wished that it was Hermione's warm, pliable tongue grazing the head of his cock instead of his fingertip. That thought alone send a fresh surge of arousal through his loins, and a trail of his own sticky juices pooled in his palm, slickening his skin.

Skilled fingertips pressed onto the sensitive patch on the underside of his erection, and Severus let out a sharp gust of air, at the same time Hermione began breathing hard against his hand, although her mouth never ceased its sucking.

Both hands continued moving in tandem with one another, his finger against Hermione's tongue and his fist firmly gripping cock. One, two, three more strokes of his hand and Severus grunted loudly, fighting back a feral groan as his hips jerkily thrust forward until he spilled into his hand.

Through his daze Severus registered that his hand stopped moving against Hermione's mouth, but her moans were managing to escape around it. He knew he had to end the spell, because if she came in her sleep, no doubt everyone would know. As much as he hated to do so, as he desperately wanted to see Hermione break completely apart, Severus pried his hand from her lips and awkwardly reached across the bed to fumble around for his wand.

Once the spell was ended, Hermione's moans gradually tapered off, although her lingering arousal made her continue to writhe against the sheets. Severus was astounded when Hermione let out what sounded like a whimper, as if she was consciously aware of just having been denied an orgasm.

He would make it up to her, that much was for sure. And there was no telling how Hermione would feel upon waking; most likely still aroused and anxious, yet unaware as to why that was.

Using his wand to clean and dry his right hand, Severus settled back onto the bed. He looked over at Hermione, who was still slightly thrashing about, although most of the tension seemed to have drained from her limbs. She was still softly calling out his name as she fell back into a less fitful sleep.

* * *

"Harry, what the bloody hell is wrong with Hermione?" Ron asked his friend in a fierce whisper.

Harry, who was perched in an armchair perusing a Quidditch magazine, peeked over at Hermione and bit back a laugh.

"Dunno, but maybe you should make an effort to not annoy her," he replied.

Hermione heard the entire exchange yet kept her head buried in her own book. Ever since parting ways with Snape that morning, she'd been antsy and unsettled, and didn't know why. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; even Severus appeared to have slept well. Yet for some unknown reason the witch felt as if she were an unlit fuse, with someone menacingly holding a match next to it.

She honestly hadn't meant to snap at Ronald; but he was tap-dancing on her first, last, and spare nerve, and it was all she could do to not outright scream at him, knowing that she would regret the outburst. But even she doubted that yelling at her friend would be cathartic.

No matter what she did, Hermione continued feeling wound up. There was no feasible explanation as to why she felt temperamental, either. Considering how she had spent the previous night, remembering the way Severus took her apart from the inside out and completely rearranged her head, Hermione figured that she ought to be in a state of utmost relaxation. But no, the smallest thing seemed to set her off, as if she were in the throes of a severe case of PMS.

The morning hadn't started off all that different, relatively speaking, considering that she had woken up next to Severus. Hermione awoke to find herself draped over the wizard, and he had seemed quite comfortable with his arm throws over her waist. Before Hermione left his room, Severus cupped her cheek and brushed his lips against her forehead.

It wasn't until she was in the midst of bathing and changing that Hermione had the distinct impression that something wasn't right. It felt as if she were missing something, only she didn't know what that something was.

Whatever it was, it had her feeling like a crazy person at the moment, and Hermione needed something to take her nerves off edge. Their schoolbooks hadn't been sent to Grimmauld Place yet, and she didn't even have that as an excuse to go escape to her room.

Another idea struck, and Hermione summoned a Muggle ballpoint pen and paper, deciding to write a letter to her parents. Their contact had been sporadic at best, purely to make sure that no unwanted attention was being drawn to the Grangers. Still, Hermione vowed to stay in touch as much as she was able to.

Filling up five sheets of paper front to back, and wondering if she should have used parchment instead, Hermione folded up her missive and tucked it in between the pages of her book.

"Finished writing your story, have you?" Ron asked, looking up from the magazine that Harry had given him.

"Be quiet," Hermione shot back. "When did your mum say they were coming by to bring our school books?"

"Honestly, Hermione, are books the only thing you can think of right now?" the redhead asked in an aggrieved tone. "School doesn't start for another two weeks; can't we at least finish out the holiday without having to see anything dealing with Potions or Ancient Runes?"

"Oh, because a Quidditch magazine is so much better?"

"Will you both give it a rest?" Harry piped in. "The last thing I feel like hearing is you two bickering."

"What?" Hermione asked, aghast. "I was the one minding my business, but _Ronald_ here is the one that started bothering _me_!"

"Ron, leave Hermione alone," Harry quipped, sounding like a parent that was trying to muster up patience with a child that wanted sweets for breakfast.

"What did I do?"

Ron still had his hands thrown up in despair as Hermione shook her head, rising from the sofa and stepping over him. Figuring that perhaps she needed to be alone before she ended up losing her temper, she made her way upstairs to her bedroom.

Even thought it was only five in the afternoon, Hermione lay across her bed, leaving her book by her side. Now that she'd written the letter to her parents, she found herself wondering how they were doing. Mr Weasley was usually the one that would pass Hermione's letters onto her parents, knowing how to do so unobtrusively. The last time she'd written to them was three weeks ago, and that was only because she'd nagged her way into having her letter sent.

Her parents, and Crookshanks, whom she asked repeatedly about in her last letter, were faring well, and that somewhat put Hermione at ease. They hadn't exactly been thrilled about spending the entire summer away from their only child, but understood that it was essential to keep her safe.

She ignored the fact that her parents would become apoplectic had they known about how their daughter was spending her nights, especially considering that her dad was most likely only a few years older than the Potions master.

Sometimes it was easy to forget about their age difference, or the fact that her lover was also her teacher. She definitely didn't think about either fact once they were naked, clinging to one another beneath the sheets. He wasn't Snape, the callous Potions professor; he was Severus, who had scars covering his back and chest yet still had the softest skin she'd ever touched, and calluses on his fingers that felt just right whenever they moved across her body.

For the most part the wizard continued to remain reserved and withdrawn, never volunteering his thoughts or the like, yet in his own conventional way Hermione understood that he'd somewhat let her in. Severus never seemed like the type to remain in the company of others for longer than was necessary, much less allow another into his personal space. There had been a few times when Hermione tried to push her luck and in what she thought was an innocent tone, questioned him about one thing or another. All it had taken was a mere arch of an eyebrow and that damned look in Severus' black eyes for her to fall silent.

Severus was still very much like a steel door that one could bang at and pummel until they grew tired, yet would only open if the person on the other end allowed it to. But even the most unyielding of steel doors had a weak point, even if it was the size of a pinpoint.

* * *

Hermione's bad mood last throughout the rest of the day. She was hot and bothered, only it had taken the form of being downright unreasonable, and she ended up snapping at Ron again and even Harry once as a result.

Snape, like always, remained in the shadows when he lurked about the house, yet upon overhearing Hermione soundly chastising the tactless redhead for the umpteenth time, he found himself soundlessly chuckling.

He knew the reason behind Hermione's capricious behavior. And he would have sought to remedy the situation that morning, only she managed to oversleep and woke up right before Ron and Harry emerged from their rooms. Snape had to shake Hermione by the shoulder a few times to rouse her, and when her eyes finally opened she sat up, frizzy curls hanging into her face and looking completely befuddled. Realizing the time, Hermione had bolted from the bed and dressed in a hurry, even though it was obvious that she would have preferred to remain in his room. Yet there was the unspoken agreement that the two would reconvene later that night, and Hermione dragged herself out of the bedroom to begin her day.

It was well after dinner when the house finally fell silent. All day there was a slight tension humming throughout the air, as if even the walls of Grimmauld Place sensed Hermione's agitation. Ron and Harry had begun tiptoeing around the bushy-haired witch, and both of them even prepared supper together in a collaborative effort to soothe her nerves.

Somehow even Ron knew to not ask if she was expecting her monthly, knowing that he risked the chance of Hermione's head completely spinning around, before popping off her neck and running after him with teeth bared and snapping.

The warm meal seemed to make her a bit more agreeable, and dinner passed without a hitch. An hour later, however, was a different story.

Ron and Harry both knew that Hermione always took a bath right before bed, and would usually leave the bathroom free for her. She never asked for much, nor complained when they spent an hour in the there, even if she had to go use the bathroom on the floor where Sirius' mother's old bedroom was next to. Hermione never liked going on that end of the house as Kreacher tended to lurk near his mistress's room, and even if the snarling house-elf wasn't around, she swore that she could still hear something moving about on the floor.

Therefore when Hermione began going through the preparations of preparing her bath, she already had her robe on, toilet kit and wand in hand, and a towel over her arm. She was just about to open her bedroom door to step out into the hallway when she heard another door slam in the distance, and heaved a loud sigh when she saw the bathroom light pouring out through the bottom crack.

"Are you going to be long?" she asked after knocking.

"Yeah," Ron answered, his voice muffled from the other side. "Go use the other one!"

"Ron! You know I don't like going downstairs at night!" Hermione huffed, thinking about how Kreacher tried to trip her the night before. She positively refused to go anywhere near that bathroom. "Why didn't you go downstairs? You knew I was about to take a bath!"

"Aww_ Hermione!_" he called back. "It won't kill you this once to go use the other lav! Unless you want to wait!"

"_Ronald!_"

"Hermione, go away! I'm concentrating!"

"Hope you don't flush away the last of your brain cells," Hermione muttered under her breath, stalking back to her room.

She was just about to shove the door open when she felt as if someone was staring at her. Turning her head she found that Snape was indeed at the bottom of the steps across the hallway, beckoning her over with one long finger. Casting one last angry look at the shut bathroom door behind her, Hermione quietly walked over to Snape, following up the steps behind him.

Snape stopped walking once they were standing in the middle of the dimly lit hallway, his eyes blatantly appraising Hermione's robe-covered figure. "Don't you know when you argue with a daft person you end up with two idiots instead of one?" he finally asked.

"No...what?"

"Miss Granger. Assuming that you haven't lost your remaining brain cells rowing with that daft boy, surely you'll be able to take your much demanded bath up here."

Hermione swallowed hard, realizing that she must have sounded ridiculous shouting at Ron through the bathroom door. She definitely didn't know that Severus had heard the entire thing and felt a bit foolish. Foolish wasn't the only way she felt; already her and Ron's little spat had been forgotten about, now that Severus' tall form was hovering over her. Even the disgruntled look on his gaunt face did little to put her off.

Almost immediately Hermione was compelled to press herself against the wizard, nearly dropping her towel and toilet kit in the process. Now understanding just why she felt cross and anxious all day, Hermione felt a low throbbing between her legs, and was nearly desperate for Severus to untie the sash of her robe and pull her naked body against him.

Severus was only too eager to comply, and lowered his head to brush his lips against Hermione's. Her towel, wand, and toilet kit all fell onto the floor with a soft thump right before her hands wove through his lank black hair. Hermione proceeded to kiss him as if she hadn't just left his company that morning, her lips hungrily moving over his mouth and neck.

"Touch me," she whispered, hurriedly untying her robe and pressing herself against Severus. He fell back against the wall from the sudden force, yet kept his hand in place when Hermione began tugging on it.

"Are you forgetting where we are, Miss Granger?" he asked in a low, rumbling baritone that as of late made butterflies race about in her stomach.

"No, and why the Miss Granger?" she said plaintively, burying her face into Severus' chest and nuzzling her nose against the pristine white linen.

Severus reached around to the back of Hermione's head, grabbing onto the curls that had been gathered up into a sloppy bun and tilting her head back. "You know I won't call you anything but Miss Granger outside of those four walls," he told her, curtly nodding towards his bedroom, " and you seem to forget that keeping quiet isn't one of your strong points."

Hermione felt like pouting, aware that disappointment was all over her face. Severus, like always, displayed no trace of emotion, yet his eyes were focused on the sliver of naked skin peeking from between the front opening of her robe.

"I'll be quiet, I promise," she told him, reaching towards Severus' wrist again bringing it to the middle of their bodies. His face continued to remain impassive even as those long fingers carded through her pubic hair, lightly circling around her clitoris. He watched as Hermione's eyes slid shut, her teeth coming down into her bottom lip as she began writhing against his hand. She still held onto his wrist, letting go only when it was apparent that he wasn't going to stop.

It wasn't easy trying to contain her moans, not when Severus knew how to perfectly titillate her body. Hermione knew that she probably looked silly, standing there pressed up against Severus, forcing him back into the wall with robe dangled open, but she didn't care. Spreading her legs further apart, Hermione urged his hand to slide further into her damp folds, nearly losing control when one finger slipped up into her body.

Hermione's knees buckled and she had to grab onto Severus to keep from falling. Her hips continued writhing against the teasing hand, and it was all she could do to not scream when his thumb found her clit.

"I thought you needed to go shower?" Hermione heard Severus ask. Opening her eyes she began to speak, clamping her lips shut when the slowly pistoning finger inside her shifted and pressed into a spot that made her tremble.

_Sod the shower! _Hermione thought, the need to come her only pressing issue at that moment. She was in an awkward stance, her knees knocking into Severus as she kept the entire length of her entire body against him, her fingers were clutching onto his shirtsleeves. It was hard to ignore his growing erection as it poked her in the belly, and it was obvious that the wizard was enjoying himself. Except a second later Severus removed his hand from between Hermione's trembling thighs, laying both palms on her shoulders and urging her to stand back.

"Are you mad?" she spat accusingly, her unsatisfied body humming with arousal as she glared at the wizard whose calm demeanor ran against her fury.

"Go take your shower, Miss Granger," he told her, his firm tone clearly stating for Hermione to not challenge him.

If Hermione could have gotten away with it, she told herself that she would pinch Severus on the hand or step right on top of his black boot-covered foot, childish as it sounded.

_Why is he being so difficult?! _she screamed internally.

_That's_ what had been missing all day, she suddenly realized with perfect clarity. Hermione became aroused whenever she thought about Severus touching her, but it had never been to the point where her skin felt as if it were too tight for her body. His hands had been on the brink of assuaging the ache that had taken over, only when he stopped the ache intensified and it made her insides painfully clench.

The lust kindled in his eyes was obvious, yet the reason for Severus putting their activities on hold was not. Hermione refused to be swayed, and bending to retrieve belongings that lay in a heap at their feet, she rose and grabbed Severus' left hand, attempting to tug him down the hall.

"Come on," she frowned when Severus didn't budge, as he used his weight to root himself into place. "You told me to go take my shower, remember?"

"Last I remember, you were beneath my tutelage for Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts once; am I to assume that you need lessons in the art of using a flannel?"

"For the _love_ of Merlin, I have no idea why you're being so onerous-actually, I have an idea, but never mind that," Hermione replied, her fingers still curled around Severus' hand. "But can you just please come with me, this once?"

Severus continued to look at the pleading witch yet followed her, curious to see what she had in mind as she led them to the bathroom. Hermione didn't waste any time shutting and locking the door behind them and casting a Silencing Charm.

"You know that won't work if that insipid house-elf is around," Severus told her.

"I know," Hermione said. "But at least it'll work on Ron and Harry, not that I plan on letting them hear anything."

With that, Hermione slipped out of her robe, unashamedly standing completely naked before Severus. Briefly wondering when the hell she became so bold, Hermione shivered as she walked across the cold tiled floor to turn on the shower, testing the water to see if it was hot.

"Is this why you brought me in here with you?" Severus asked from his place by the bathroom door, "to watch you bathe? Or perhaps you were in need of a squire?"

He wasn't all that troubled; the sight of Hermione's pert, bare bottom as she leaned over the edge of the tub to fiddle with the faucet was most pleasing to his eye.

"You've pegged me right," she said, leaning up and turning around. "I need a henchman in black suit and only you will do. But for now, take that off and get in with me."

_Nice, Hermione, very subtle. _

_Oh, __**sod **__being subtle! Did you not notice the lagoon between your legs? That isn't sweat, dear girl._

Even as Hermione stood there arguing with herself, her eyes grew wide with shock when Severus yanked the tails of his shirt out from his trousers, and slowly unfastened the small buttons lining the placket.

"Close your mouth, Hermione," Severus drawled once he was completely naked, placing a hand at the small of her back to push her towards the now hot and steaming shower.

"I'm sorry, I just can't believe you actually agreed."

The two were now enclosed in the shower space that was just big enough, and the comfortably hot water pelted down on their skin.

Severus grunted what sounded like assent to Hermione's last statement, and pushed his now soaked black hair away from his face. It was different looking at his naked body in the dim light of the bathroom, yet it was enough for Hermione to see everything. Severus no longer tried to conceal the Dark Mark on his left forearm, and after awhile Hermione's eyes stopped going towards it.

"You should know this begs the question," Severus began as he took the soap and began lathering up with brisk, purposeful movements, "as to if this is a thinly veiled attempt to see if I'll run at the sight of soap and water."

Hermione rolled her eyes and fought back a laugh. "Now that's a ridiculous idea if I've ever heard one. I know that you bathe, and wash your hair, and brush your teeth. I think I would notice if you hadn't, considering the fact that I've kissed you and slept next to you all week."

When Severus became silent again, Hermione wondered if she said too much. The two continued going through the motions of washing, yet Hermione didn't forget her initial reason for luring Severus into the bathroom with her. She definitely wanted to finish what they started out in the hallway, yet it seemed that he was merely interested in literally showering with her.

The unspoken query must have been glaringly obvious on her face, because Severus wrapped one wet arm around Hermione's waist and pulled her closer.

"I know what you want," he murmured. "I'm just curious to see how long you'll stand here for without asking for it, or at the very least, taking it."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up on her head. Her next move shocked even her, as she dropped to her knees, disregarding the water pelting down on top of her head, and took Severus' now flaccid cock into her mouth.

He smelled like the soap they'd just used and even through the shower water she was able to taste his personal essence. When he was fully erect, Hermione wrapped her hands around either of Severus' slender legs to balance herself, using momentum to continue guiding him into her mouth.

Severus barely made a noise as Hermione's lips and tongue worked over his flesh, but the firm grip his hand had on her hair was enough for her to know that he approved. Finally he let out a hoarse grunt and the other hand also came down on her head.

Hermione felt that familiar pulse between her legs again, shocked that she was getting off by Severus' slim hips writhing and bucking against her face, his hands pulling her onto his cock, stopping just short of making her gag. When he had enough of her mouth, Severus let go of Hermione's hair and yanked her up on her feet. Her legs were a bit numb from being crouched down for so long, but it didn't make a difference when she was suddenly picked up and had her back pressed against the cool tiles of the wall.

Instinctively wrapping her legs around Severus' waist and arms around his neck, Hermione felt him guide her down onto his cock, letting out a sharp gasp as she was filled swiftly. He slid into her so easily that Hermione knew she was soaking wet, not to mention the way the new position made him go deeper than before.

Intense was the only way to describe what she was feeling. Hermione's arms were tightening around Severus' neck, and his wet hair continuously brushed against her cheek as he pushed up into her body. He had both hands on her arse, slowly pulling Hermione down to meet each thrust.

Because of the wall Hermione was unable to throw her head back, and relented to biting down on her lip to keep from screaming. Every part of her, inside and out, was being stimulated, and Severus was easily controlling her body's movement from the way he held onto her behind. But when he began to go faster she nearly lost her head, letting out the faintest of whimpers and squeals.

He was relentless, alternating between a slow, circular grinding of his hips and a straightforward pumping motion. It wasn't long before Hermione's walls were clamping down and convulsing around him. Severus had to give it to her; she managed to remain quiet, even if she was breathing so hard that she was in danger of inhaling the water that still poured from the showerhead.

Hermione only lost her composure when Severus lightly bit down at the juncture of her neck, his teeth sending a jolt right to her clitoris. Between being driven up the wall by his forceful, relentless thrusts, Hermione easily came apart once more, her shrill cries threatening to ring out in the bathroom had Severus not swiftly covered her mouth with his.

Short fingernails dug into and clawed at Severus' shoulders, although neither registered it. Severus was too caught up in the feel of Hermione's tight tunnel clasping onto his cock, and desperate to feel more, his own fingers nearly became embedded into her soft behind as he fucked her harder.

There was no other word for it. Severus was completely taking Hermione apart, every last bit of coherency being driven out of her body by his pistoning cock. His mouth was still on hers and Hermione sounded as if she were about to sob from the magnitude of it all. Even Severus was having a hard time holding out, and erupted deep inside her body much sooner than he wanted to. His legs nearly grew weak from the forceful release, and he had to keep Hermione pressed against the wall to make sure that they both didn't fall.

When Hermione was finally lowered to the floor, her entire body continued to tremble, and she clung gratefully to the arms that were still around her waist.

Severus said nothing as he stared at the witch, who still looked completely dazed. Her hair had come partially undone, and her lips were a bit puffy from the brutal assault he'd laid against them with his own.

Hermione seemed to have momentarily lost her ability to speak. Even after they'd rinsed off again and got out of the shower, she remained closed-mouth until they were both dry, naked, and beneath the duvet in Severus' room.

"I don't feel like a raving lunatic anymore," she chuckled listlessly. "Maybe I just needed you to sort me out from the start."

"Does this mean I'll be attacked in the hallway whenever you get your knickers in a twist?" Severus asked, tracing around Hermione's nipple with his fingertips.

"Perhaps," she yawned. Hermione wondered if she would always feel so sleepy after sex. One thing was for sure; she definitely felt a lot more relaxed compared to when she first woke up that morning.

Severus had used his wand to dry her hair, and Hermione hoped that it would take less than a slew of drastic measures to comb it out in the morning. Either way, she was completely unconcerned for the moment, sleep being the more pressing priority.

* * *

**_A/N: I was asked to do a shower scene, hopefully you like? You should know that I had to *ahem* ask an expert about that one, and then accidentally said the word 'cock' over dinner. I have never backtracked so much in my life as I did yesterday evening._**


	11. Chapter 11

**_A/N: I sincerely hope that I got all of my errors and awkward sentence structure. It would not do to have my lovely readers' eyes bleed! We got hit with another damned storm! For those of you that complain about never getting snow wherever you live, please feel free to send your address along with a cheque or money order for $2 USD, or £1, and I will send you all the snow that you can handle._**

**_On a serious note, thank you for the warm messages and well wishes about the hurricane. I'm just grateful that I wasn't one of the folks that got hit too badly, as I have my own friends and family that STILL don't have power. Some don't even have clean water out where they live. _**

**_Yeaah and that's why I haven't been able to reply to everyone's reviews, I am soooooo sorry, you do know that I love you right? And that I NEED those e-paddling and e-spankings to keep me going! But I've been letting others use my computer which forces me to do other things, like read an actual book, clean, or have coca-cola. _**

**_Here I go, bending over again, your supplicant...e-slave hehehee. Please, the lovely that wanted the shower scene, stand up! And the lovely that wanted some jealously over Fred and George, stand up, so I may put your name in my author's notes and thank you properly. Or I can just go through my sea of pm's, which will take longer but I'll do it dammit! Okay, I'll shut up now. I love you all. And if any errors remain, I will fix them! _**

* * *

Hermione leaned back from the table and hurriedly covered her mouth, trying to hide the yawn that she was about to release from escaping. Mrs Weasley had a gimlet eye when it came to them all, and the last thing she wanted the matriarch to do was ask why Hermione looked so knackered.

A meeting for the Order had been held the next afternoon at Grimmaud Place. Lunch was prepared and eaten in a rush, and the younger wizards had been sent out of the room. As was expected, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny weren't allowed to attend, and had to occupy themselves while the adults holed themselves down in the kitchen. Bill, Fred, and George were also present, although the twins preferred to stay upstairs with everyone else, taking great joy out of bedeviling Hermione and Ginny.

"So how are things with the git?" Fred cheerfully asked, speaking of Professor Snape. "Has he tried to hex you lot yet?"

The frowning Potions master had come out of his room for the meeting, only appearing right as the others were finishing up their meal. Mrs Weasley politely greeted Snape, while the others gave him some semblance of a muttered greeting. He still maintained little contact as possible with the group, something that no one complained about. His dark eyes never once strayed in Hermione's direction as she filed past him out of the kitchen, although she expected that.

"Terrible," Ron grumbled, still thinking of the day when the professor showed face and came down to the kitchen, nearly making him spit twice from fright. The tall redhead, who was still sulking from being chastised the day before, furtively glanced over at Hermione. She seemed to be a bit tired yet in a better mood that morning, but he was doing his best to not say something to send her over the edge again.

"I can't believe I'm actually saying this," Harry cut in, "but not that bad, to be honest. Snape doesn't really come out unless Mrs Black's portrait starts yelling her head off. So long as we try to tiptoe around the damned thing, we don't see him all that much."

"Harry's right," Hermione added. "It's actually been quiet around here; too quiet sometimes."

"Yeah, well, if I have to take stark silence and boredom over that bellyaching portrait, then give me the silence," Ron added.

"Ahh, should have told us sooner," George grinned. "Freddie and I would have sent over some entertainment for you lot!"

Ginny shook her head, laughing because she knew just what sort of 'entertainment' her brother meant. "Because the one thing they really need are Wildfire Whiz-Bangs."

"Hey sis, don't knock it till you try it," Fred replied. "We were actually working on some new WonderWitch products. Shame, Hermione, you could've been a tester for us. That way if anything went wrong, at least you'd have been in the house where no one could see you."

"Gee, thanks Fred," she said dubiously. "Normally I'd jump at the opportunity to play guinea pig for you and George, but I think it best if I sit this round out."

"You sound as if you don't trust us, Hermione," George offered with a cheeky grin. "If something were to happen, it's not as if it would last. When have we ever steered you wrong?"

"You don't really expect me to answer that, do you?"

"Hmm...maybe not."

Ron, Harry, and Ginny began laughing, all of them thinking back to when they'd each fallen victim to the twins' pranks. For the most part, all of their products had been harmless, and at times helpful, as they'd used the Puking Pastilles to their advantage on more than one occasion. Even so, with no ingredients on hand with which to make necessary antidotes for any mishaps, Hermione definitely refused to test out any Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products.

"Oh, sorry," Hermione apologised as she let out another yawn. "I think I need a nap."

"What did you do, stay up all night reading?" Ron sniggered, rolling over onto his side. He was a few inches away from Hermione on the floor in the drawing room and she stretched a leg out, nudging him in the shoulder with the tip of her trainer.

The truth was, Hermione woke up during the night when she felt Severus clutch onto her breast in the midst of sleep. At first she wondered if he was awake, judging by the way his fingertips lazily plucked and pinched at her nipple. She then knew he was definitely awake when his growing erection began pressing into her behind. Daringly she'd pushed her hips back against him, further encouraged when Severus lifted her leg to drape it over his thigh. Long fingers probed and teased her folds before he placed the tip of his cock at her entrance and slowly made his way into her body.

Hermione remembered that she had been quiet at first, her hastened breathing the only thing giving away their activities. The new position with them spooned together felt different, but when Severus' hips began churning a slow rhythm against her, his shaft rubbing and dragging along each sensitive spot, Hermione had been unable to hold back her moans of pleasure. Quickly she reached her peak, easily coming to another one when Severus directed her hand between her legs, telling Hermione to touch herself while he fucked her.

The feel of his warm breath tickling the back of her neck, her fingers stroking her clitoris coupled with his leisurely thrusting had nearly been too much, and Hermione had to bite down on her pillow to keep from outright screaming. She barely came back into herself when Severus shifted her over and pushed flat on her back. He had then hastily climbed on top of her, throwing both her legs over his shoulders before plunging back into her body. He rode the young witch relentlessly, and even though Hermione begged him to stop for a moment so she could catch her breath, Severus kept going.

By the time he finally erupted inside a trembling Hermione and lowered her legs onto the mattress, her entire body went limp and she promptly fell asleep, completely oblivious to the wet spot beneath her, or the twisted sheets around both ankles. Hours later when Hermione felt herself being shaken out of her slumber, the bed was dry and she was neatly covered with the duvet. The time had been earlier that when she usually left Severus' room, but he stated that the others were coming to Grimmauld Place that afternoon and that she needed to leave.

Hermione had felt like hell warmed over, and wanted nothing more than to curl back up against Severus and pull the duvet over her head, but knew that she had to go back to her own room. Of course, Harry and Ron hadn't noticed the fatigue on their friend's face, or if they had, didn't mention it. Hermione chalked up their unawareness to them ignoring her as a result of her attitude from the day before.

Her snippy mood was definitely gone, and she surmised that Severus literally shagged every bad feeling out of her body, but having been taken so vigorously made her want to sleep for another few hours. However, the relaxed sensation she now felt definitely outweighed her previous tense, anxiety-riddled one.

But to her chagrin, and sust as Hermione expected, sleeping on wet hair left her with an almost completely matted bun atop her head. The task of combing the knots out of her tangled curls that morning had been lengthy and arduous; even so, that still hadn't made her cross.

A loud shriek from Ginny suddenly cut through the room, and Hermione looked over to see George suppressing a grin, even though it was evident that he'd done something to his sister.

"Behave!" Ginny fussed, smoothing back her ruffled red hair. "They've been like this all week," she explained to a curious looking Harry and Hermione. Ron was unaffected by the unannounced cry, as he was used to his brothers' antics.

"Aww, Ginny, don't be like that," Fred called. He'd taken a small bottle from George, and was brandishing it in his sister's direction. "We need someone to test this out on; it won't hurt!"

"No! Last time I tried one of your potions, my hair turned pink!"

"Fine, be that way," George sniffed, pretending to be hurt. His face pulled back into a smile as he looked in Hermione's direction. "Say, Hermione-"

"Oh no, you don't!" she protested, jumping up to run out of the drawing room.

She was too slow for both wizards and George headed her off at the pass, wrapping both his long arms around her frame as Fred approached the two with the now uncorked bottle. Hermione shrieked and kicked her legs, forcefully trying to get away from the mischievous twins.

"All that fuss; I only wanted to put a little bit on the ends of one small section of your hair!" Fred explained, as if his statement was perfectly justified. "And it won't turn candy floss pink like Ginny's; at least, I don't think so. George tweaked the ingredients a bit."

Fred then paused, cocking his head to the side and holding the small blue bottle up in front of his face, scrutinizing its label.

"If you two don't let me go, I'm going to scream the house down and tell Mrs Weasley what you're up to," Hermione threatened, her nostrils flaring as she stared at a grinning Fred. George was also chuckling behind her, shaking her slightly from the movement.

"Sure you don't want to be our tester?" George asked, his voice full of mirth by her ear. "If everything goes according to plan, we'll be raking in the Galleons and we'll even offer you a bit, you know, something like royalties. Or a consolation prize."

"The only consoling I want is for you to _let go of me!_" Hermione shrieked.

Ron and Harry were laughing uncontrollably at the irritated look on their friends face, glad that they were no longer the ones on the receiving end of Hermione's wrath. Ginny was also giggling, happy to have her brother's attention diverted elsewhere.

_"Mrs Wea-!"_ Hermione opened her mouth to bellow, only for George to clap one hand across her lips.

"Ssh!" he hissed. "Do you want Mum to kill us?"

_"Hrmmmm!"_ Hermione, who was still unable to talk, buzzed angrily, and continued to thrash against George's forearm.

"Just a little..." Fred murmured, holding the filled dropper in one hand and reaching out to undo Hermione's ponytail with the other. "Oi! Ow, Hermione!" he bellowed when she kicked out again, her blue trainer covered foot catching him clear in the knee.

Hermione then kicked backwards, causing George to loosen his grasp and nearly drop her to the floor.

"You idiots!" she yelled, snatching her hair grip out of Fred's hand and securing her curls back. "Have you lost your minds?! I ought to-"

Hermione was cut short when Fred began laughing at her, sweeping her up and planting a kiss on her cheek, at the same time George tugged on her hair, making the newly placed hair grip become dislodged again.

She had just opened her mouth to scream when to her intense horror, Severus, of all people, was making his way past the drawing room, travelling cloak on over his black suit and billowing behind him. He paused for a moment, his obsidian eyes coolly sweeping over the group of carousing teens before continuing on down the hall, where the front door then slammed shut.

_Damn, _Hermione swore inwardly, feeling contrite as if she'd done something wrong. She was sure that Severus noticed the twins teasing her, what was sure to most definitely looked like flirting. Still, no matter how innocent their attention might be, Hermione distinctly got the idea that the older wizard hadn't been pleased. Of course, his face always made him look as if he were in a perpetual bad mood, no doubt exacerbated by the Order meeting which he had been forced to attend. Now that he'd left the house, plus factoring in that everyone else still around, Hermione was mad that she didn't have the opportunity to go after him.

Still quietly seething, Hermione stomped over to Ginny and flopped down next to her on the sofa, paying no attention to the fact that she'd jostled Harry in the process.

"Alright?" he turned to ask her, his green eyes round with mirth.

"Yes," she gritted out between clenched teeth.

After Hermione kept glaring at the twins, the two made sure to keep their antics to a minimum, at least where they concerned the bushy-haired witch. The only thing that put Hermione back in an agreeable mood was when Bill and Mrs Weasley came into the drawing room, Mr Weasley soon trailing behind, all three of them bearing sizeable brown paper-wrapped bundles.

"Your school books," Mrs Weasley announced. "That's all of them; you can go put them in your trucks," she continued, checking the names on each parcel before handing them out.

Ron grumbled loudly as he took his books from his father. Harry and Ginny didn't give much fuss, while Hermione was the only one to grin widely as if she'd just been handed a winning lottery ticket.

"Thank goodness," Hermione said, plopping down cross-legged on the drawing room floor and arranging the books in front of her. "I was going round the bend with nothing new to read." She then proceeded to tear off the paper and pull each book into her lap, eagerly rifling through the pages before tossing it down and moving onto the next.

"Mad, she is, going barmy over a stupid book," Ron grumbled, casting his to the side as if they had done him a great injustice. "Still wish we'd been able to go to Diagon Alley; it would have been nice to get out and about."

"Have you forgotten about what happened last time we let you three go out?" Mrs Weasley sharply scolded, putting both hands on her wide hips and dressing down her son with her eyes. "The whole point of you staying here is to remain safe. It's bad enough that we're letting you stay here on your own."

"_Not_ on our own," Ron corrected. "We've been putting up with that git, Snape."

"Professor Snape, Ron," Mr Weasley told his son. "And he's doing us all a favour by staying here with you three. Poor Remus; things are getting harder and harder for him with each full moon. He finally let Tonks stick around for longer than an hour to help sort him out."

Hermione's ears perked up slightly at the mention of her old professor and the clumsy pink-haired witch. _Good for Tonks,_ she thought. It had been obvious that Tonks fancied Lupin, but the older wizard seemed slow to catch on. Finally he noticed the young Auror and perhaps she would be able to put a smile on his usually weary, scratched-up face.

* * *

Disquieted for the remained of the Weasleys' visit, Hermione found that she was anxious for their departure. She knew that Severus still hadn't returned, as she overheard his name mentioned in conversation between the adults.

With both parents as well as Fred and George around, Ginny and Harry didn't dare skulk off to one of their more private spots in the house. The group remained in the drawing room, only leaving once to go down to the kitchen for dinner.

Fred and George left directly after the meal was done, stating that they needed to tend to some business. George kissed his mum on the cheek in an attempt to dodge the questions that immediately arose.

Time continued to trickle by, and when it began getting late, Mrs Weasley fretted about leaving Grimmauld Place. She only capitulated to returning back to the Burrow when Ron rolled his eyes and fussed that he wasn't a child, Mr Weasley at her ear also stating that the three would be fine.

Hermione couldn't believe that Mrs Weasley was telling them to get to bed while putting her coat on, as if they were still eleven-year-old children. They went upstairs anyway after telling Mr and Mrs Weasley goodnight.

Glaring at Ron and warning him to stay away from the bathroom, the redhead threw up his hands in defeat and made a grand gesture of showing Hermione that he was on the way to his bedroom. Hermione narrowed her eyes and watched as he continued on down the hallway before going into her room to collect her belongings.

Thirty minutes later, she was bathed and in her nightgown, curled up in bed with her new Arithmancy textbook. Heaving a gusty sigh, Hermione found that her focus was no greater than it had been when the house was brimming over with people. The sharp silence now merely served to agitate her further, as she continued to worry over Severus' lengthy absence.

Unless he'd come in and she hadn't heard him.

Snatching her bathrobe off from the foot of her bed and slipping into it, Hermione rose and shoved her feet into her slippers. Wand in hand, she then cracked her bedroom door open, checking to see if the hallway was clear. Gingerly stepping out, Hermione thought about going up to knock on Severus' door.

Not surprised to find that the room was empty, Hermione heard a snuffling noise at the other end of the completely darkened hallway, and it was enough to make her turn on her heel and flee downstairs. Inwardly cursing Kreacher, Hermione held out a trembling hand to light the hearth in the drawing room while simultaneously falling onto the sofa.

She felt like an idiot for running from the house-elf, but she hadn't expected for him to be lurking about at the top floor. Although, Hermione remembered how she nearly fell over him the other day, also what Severus told her running through her mind, both of which put her on edge.

Even so, thoughts of the enigma of a wizard not yet returned to Grimmauld Place made her stay put in the drawing room. Keeping her wand close by, Hermione huddled beneath her bathrobe. She lie flat on the sofa, slowly becoming mesmerized by the sight of the orange and yellow flames licking at the wood in the hearth, until she was lulled to sleep.

* * *

Curling herself into a tight ball, Hermione reluctantly opened her eyes only when she realized that she was freezing. The fire in the hearth had burned out, and as she slowly came out of her stupor, Hermione's eyes adjusted to the dim lightening, as she remembered that she had fallen asleep in a drawing room.

It was obvious that Severus hadn't returned, as he would have had to pass her on the way into the house, unless he chose to ignore Hermione and had gone straight to bed. Resignedly telling herself to go to her own bed, Hermione pushed herself upright and froze, the breath startled out of her when she caught a glimpse of two glowing eyes a few feet away from her in the darkened room.

Kreacher.

_Damn!_ Hermione panicked. She knew he was only a house-elf, alright, a malicious house-elf, yet one that managed to come to heel only when Harry was present. Of course, the green-eyed wizard was far away from the drawing room, most likely snoring his head off at the moment.

Hermione instantly forgot about being cold. She saw was unable to think nor speak, frozen to her place on the sofa cushions when the gleaming eyes, which were the only part visible of the house-elf, began moving closer. Her heart thudded fiercely enough and Hermione knew she was about to become sick all over herself.

Right then a solitary sibilant hiss cut through the darkness, followed by what appeared to be sparks from a wand being brandished. Kreacher cursed and asserted something unintelligible under his breath, but the sound of him shuffling away was evident.

Swallowing thickly, Hermione fought to catch her breath, relief coursing throughout her body yet making her tremble in the process.

"Little fool," a livid yet blessedly welcomed voice snapped next to her. A glimmer of pale white light suddenly illuminated the drawing room, revealing the visage of an incensed Severus Snape. On top of looking furious, the wizard had a grisly appearance, as if he'd had a horrendous evening.

"Granger, you have all the sense of a Troll!" Snape continued to berate, his gaunt features twisted with anger. "You know that damned elf has it out for you; what the devil do you mean by lurking about down here on your own?"

Snape's wand was still drawn, although he now held it low in front of him and Hermione was glad that she couldn't see the outraged look on his face. Hermione hadn't forgotten about Kreacher; how could she? But a state of worriment was what kept her tethered to the drawing room, in hopes that the professor would soon return to Grimmauld Place. She had a gut feeling that something wasn't right, and on top of it all, Severus looking completely put out with her at that moment. He also definitely looked as if he'd been put through the ringer.

"I-I was worried about you," she admitted, suddenly feeling very self-conscious as the wizard glared down at her. Hermione felt small and kept her head lowered, as if she'd done something wrong. It was true that her heart had been in the right place, even if her brain had temporarily gone astray.

She found herself staring at the folded edge of Snape's travelling cloak before venturing a peek at his face, which was still mostly concealed by the dark shadows. Looking back down, her brown eyes honed in on his wand hand, only then taking in the way it was trembling slightly. Now that she felt at ease, Hermione saw that Snape's entire frame was shaky, as if he were on the verge of collapse.

Hermione definitely felt horrible at that point. Snape could barely stand on his own two feet yet he'd made it into Grimmauld Place, just in time to keep Kreacher from doing whatever it had been that he was planning. Rooting around for her own wand, Hermione held it up and was floored by the sight before her. Snape was ashen-faced, and his black hair clung limply to his head as if he'd been sweating profusely. His suit and cloak didn't detract from his appearance, as he looked positively wraith-like swaddled in the voluminous black.

Hesitantly reaching out to touch Snape's wrist, Hermione was shocked to find that his skin was cold to the touch. Her fingers curled around his wrist, trying to make him sit down on the sofa, only for the wizard to remain standing.

"Sir, you're freezing," she needlessly pointed out, lowering her wand and rubbing her fingers along his hand to emphasize her point.

"I'm well aware," he stiffly replied, keeping a firm hold on his still lit wand that was now close to Hermione's face.

"Then why don't you rest here for a minute, and I'll relight the hearth."

"Why don't you go to bed, Miss Granger? I'm sure cavorting with the redheaded duo took a lot out of you."

_Is he serious? _Hermione asked herself, all but throwing her hands up in exasperation. She knew that Severus had a disposition to behave the role of the consummate curmudgeon, his behavior increased by tenfold each time he was hurt. But from the little bit that she could see in the dark, it didn't appear that Severus was bleeding or otherwise injured, yet she was unable to deny the troubled look upon his haggard and drawn features.

"Fred and George didn't mean anything. It was a bit of harmless fun on their part, even if it made me want to smack them both," she continued dismissively.

Severus merely grunted in reply, and Hermione wondered if he was actually jealous. Knowing better than to get into a row with the difficult man, Hermione rose from the sofa, her hand still on Severus' wrist. He never flinched when she pushed his wand arm down, afterwards the soft white light fading into nothingness.

Severus remained silent as Hermione extinguished the light on her wand. He was, in fact, exhausted and ached from head to toe. His meeting with the Dark Lord and the rest of the Death Eaters had been mild, relatively speaking compared to past gatherings, yet still managed to still strain his already worn out body. If it were possible, it seemed that even his nails and hair were screaming in agony.

Still, for some unknown reason, Snape tried to brush off how he truly felt, not wanting Hermione to gather the extent of his distress. However, he did allow her to gently prod him out of the drawing room and up the staircase. The young witch quietly trailed behind, never once offering commentary when he paused to steady himself against the banister. If she felt him trembling when she moved closer against him, Hermione gave away nothing.

"My room is closer," she offered in a hushed tone once they reached the landing.

Her room was closer, Snape had to admit, as he didn't relish the thought of climbing another set of steps to his bedroom. He looked and felt like hell; that much was obvious if he was allowing Hermione to help him without much remonstration.

Once they were inside Hermione's bedroom, the curly-haired witch rushed to move a thick book off her bed and ushered the grimacing wizard to lie down. The soft mattress was a reprieve, and Snape gratefully allowed his weary limbs to sink down and become enveloped. He noticed from the off that Hermione's delicate and familiar scent was embedded into the duvet and pillows, something he found comforting.

Snape had just closed his bloodshot eyes when he felt a soft hand brushing across his forehead, wiping some of the moisture away. He felt hot and cold at once, perspiration making his clothes stick to his sore skin.

His ears focused on the gentle footsteps of the witch as she moved around the room; Snape soon felt a gentle heat drifting towards the bed, and knew that she'd lit the hearth. He had never been one that liked a fire at full blaze, yet it was mild enough to not stifle him more than he already was.

Careful hands removed his boots, socks, then moving onto the clasp of his travelling cloak that was still secured at his neck. Hermione was obviously trying to not put all of her weight on the distressed man, and she perched awkwardly by his side on the bed, next tackling the many buttons on his frock coat, as well as the snugly tied silken cravat.

It took a long time for her to carefully unfasten the neck adornment, and Severus would have chuckled had he not been so worn out when he heard the witch huffing in frustration as she tried to work out the complicated knot. Hermione finally worked her way down to Severus' damp linen shirt, undoing the last button when she needed him to move to pull everything from his upper body.

His eyes shot open when he suddenly felt her small hand against his, trying to remove the wand that had remained in his tight grasp the entire time. Black orbs pierced into reassuring brown ones, and soon his long fingers loosened their hold from around the polished ebony length of wood.

"You can have it back once I'm finished," Hermione told him, placing his wand next to hers on the nightstand. "I just need to get you out of these wet clothes."

Snape glared at her, yet allowed the tenacious witch to continue with disrobing him, wincing when he shifted his weight to allow her to remove the shirt, frock coat, and the dangling length of unwound cravat. His torso was damp and the warm air in the room would have been comforting, only it was a bit too bracing for comfort.

Hermione took her time trying to remove Severus' trousers, lifting his slender legs just high enough to pull to them off. A gentle warmth suddenly washed over him as Hermione cast a simple drying charm to whisk the moisture off his skin. Without uttering a word, he allowed her to draw the sheet and duvet up to his heaving chest.

"I don't have anything stronger than paracetamol, but I'll get it if you like."

Silence.

"Severus?"

"It's not likely to help. Nothing but time is going to help this."

Snape's breathing was labored from still being in pain. Hermione also heard the bitterness coloring his voice and felt utterly useless. She kept her eyes on his face as sat down, wishing that there was something she could do, yet not knowing what to do with herself.

"I didn't intend to put you out of your bed," he commented in a gravelly voice, barely able to turn his head to look at Hermione. She had taken a seat in the armchair across from the bed and was curled up on the cushions, looking as if she planned on spending the night there.

"You need the bed more than me," she replied. "And besides, I don't want to hurt you."

Severus gave a rarely heard wry laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "I'm not as fragile as you believe. I won't shatter if you lie next to me."

Hermione took that as in indirect invitation to join him. Standing up, she moved closer to the bed, thinking twice before slipping the nightgown over her head. She was still hesitant as she lifted the edge of the duvet, cautiously moving into place beside Severus. His eyes were closed again, looking as if he were well on his way to sleep.

"You're still freezing; do you need me to turn up the fire?" Hermione asked, recoiling slightly when the feel of his icy skin clashed with her heated body.

"No, thank you," he answered abruptly. Perhaps too abruptly, as Hermione instantly fell silent, thinking that she'd aggravated the wizard. Severus knew that he was being more snappish than usual and felt a tinge of guilt for taking it out on Hermione, especially considering that she was once again helping him.

Even though he was feeling poorly, Snape had to admit that Hermione's naked, warmed skin felt soothing against his aching bones. Up until then he'd continued trembling, his tremors only ceasing after a few minutes of the soft witch being partially draped over him.

Hermione's head had been resting away from his shoulder, but she found that keeping her distance was difficult. Shyly, she moved in until her lips were an inch away from Severus' goose fleshed bicep. Hermione reasoned that Severus didn't pull away, either because he was still in pain, or unless he truly didn't mind the closeness. Either way, she rested her cheek against his pallid chest, slipping an arm around his thin torso. She then stretched her legs out alongside his, brushing her toes against the tops of his cold feet.

Snape found himself in no position to complain. Hermione's delicate frame felt quite cosy against him, and she didn't seem to mind his sharp joints pressing into her sensitive flesh.

As was habit, the always guarded wizard wanted to do many things, at the top of his list questioning, yet again, why the young witch was selflessly offering her succor. The baser part of his makeup wanted to turn Hermione over, tug her knickers off and bury himself into her softness. That second option was definitely out, as he was unable to so much as move a finger without wanting to scream. Still, Snape was tempted alone by Hermione's breasts, which were mashed against his chest from the witch lying on her stomach.

"Better?" she asked, her voice sounding muffled against his skin.

Severus gave a small hum of approval, although he remained still when Hermione further draped her body over his. Settling herself with her head next to his on the pillow, Severus felt a small rush when her lips brushed against his cheek.

Whatever this thing was between him and Hermione, Severus knew it wouldn't last. There were too many variables, the biggest two consisting of the ever-growing turmoil in the Wizarding world that would undoubtedly come to a head, the second being the undeniable fact that the young witch was still his student.

Even so, the feel of Hermione's body curved around his was comforting. Snape had finally become somewhat accustomed to the witch snuggling up to him. It now seemed a bit silly that he had once been discomforted by the close interaction.

Right then Hermione shifted her weight, and her naked back touched Snape's hand. He didn't realise that he'd placed an arm around Hermione until his fingertips skimmed her spine. His hand splayed across her back just as she began rubbing his chest, which managed to melt the remaining tension in his body.

Snape would never admit to Hermione just how much he enjoyed being close to her. He knew it was futile to linger over the thought of them staying in bed together for hours on end, with her messy curls spilling into his face and crook of his neck, and her single, gentle hand slowly moved over the ridges of his protruding rib cage. Still, the idea was a pleasant one, something that was rare in his life.

Hermione continued touching Severus as if she was mesmerized by the feel of him beneath her fingertips. Although his skin was now dry and finally a bit warmer, the scent of clean sweat and a second one that she still couldn't identify remained.

Sliding her hand up, Hermione idly traced over the angular curve of Severus' shoulder, curving her fingers around his wiry bicep and lightly massaging the area. The wizard grew pliable and more relaxed beneath her touch, his breathing finally evening out.

Without so many words being spoken, Hermione knew why Severus was in pain, just like she knew where he'd disappeared to for much of his day. She honestly didn't feel the need to know all the details and it was just as well; Severus wouldn't have told her anyway. It still didn't negate the fact that she felt properly contrite seeing him, once again, in a complete state of disarray.

It wasn't fair. Snape couldn't be all that bad, even if he said himself that he was. Hermione refused to believe it. True, the man might be self-servicing in his own way, and it wasn't as if she could blame him, but even if Snape wanted to disagree, there was still a noble part of him, even if it was rarely displayed.

Even though Severus was allowing her to touch him freely, Hermione hoped that he wouldn't make her stop. It seemed as if he needed the contact as much as she wanted it. Bringing her hand up to the side of his face, Hermione traced along the deep lines of stress etched into his features, sweeping her fingertips over his brow, nose, and lips.

She continued nuzzling closer until her face was on the other side of his. More to comfort than anything, Hermione placed a trail of feather light kisses along Severus' cheek, down to the underside of his jaw. Her fingers were now embedded in the lank black hair that was splayed out against her pillow.

Severus' jaw went slack when Hermione began lightly running her fingernails against his scalp. His hair smelled slightly musty, most likely from perspiring earlier when the lank black strands were sticking to his head. Hermione didn't care, and continued running her fingers through his hair, relieved when she felt Severus exhale deeply against her.

Deciding that she wanted more, while telling herself that she had to take it easy, Hermione slowly moved over Severus, chastely touching her lips to his. He didn't respond to the small pecks at first, and Hermione thought her advances weren't welcomed. Then one hand came up and languidly clutched onto a fistful of curls, intent on keeping Hermione's face close to his. Hermione's hand was also still buried in Severus' hair, her fingers carding through the slick tresses as she took her time moving her mouth against his.

Hermione had just kissed a path from Severus' chin, down the underside of his jaw when his arms came around her waist. Without a word he tugged on her, obviously wanting Hermione to move up. The bed sheets rustled softly as she moved about beneath them, coming to a rest once she was hovered over Severus' face.

Slender hands curved around both her breasts, cupping and kneading the soft flesh, running both palms over each sensitive peaks. Hermione moaned softly when Severus lifted his head slightly to lave his warm tongue over her nipple. Supporting her weight on both outstretched arms and lowering herself to make him lie back on the pillow, Hermione pushed more of her breast against Severus' mouth.

The wizard wasn't biased; he took his time kissing and licking each one until Hermione's nipples were two stiff points. The soft contact alone had her writhing against him, and soon she was rubbing her knickers covered core against his also cotton covered erection.

It hadn't taken much for Hermione to become excited. She knew that she should let Severus rest, but it seemed as if sleep was also the last thing on his mind. His dark eyes told her _yes_ when she silently questioned him. Severus then found himself focused on the top of Hermione's curly head as she shuffled about beneath the duvet, her hands carefully slipping his underpants off his hips and down his legs, before doing the same with her knickers.

Hermione then repositioned the duvet over them both as she straddled Severus' hips, allowing his erection to nestle snugly between her folds. Just then she realized that Severus had usually taken the lead, and that left her feeling intimidated.

"Tell me what to do," Hermione urged, sounding unsure of herself.

"I need to be inside of you first," Severus told her in a patient voice.

Even though Hermione was also self-conscious about the fact that Severus had his eyes open, able to see everything with her sitting astride him, she tried to push past her nervousness. Leaning forward and placing one hand on his chest, she used the other to position him at her entrance, slowly moving into place.

Hermione tried to muffle her gasp of discomfort when Severus bottomed out within her. It felt as if the tip of his cock was trying to press all the way past her walls, and it made her insides cramp slightly. Lifting up to alleviate the intense feeling, Hermione rest both hands on Severus' chest and remain still.

"I just need a moment," she explained, her features still crumpled into a faint grimace. Severus seemed to understand and didn't rush her. Instead, his dark eyes were focused on Hermione's breasts, which only served to make her feel even more on display.

When Hermione felt ready to try again, she rocked her hips against Severus, trying to gain the pleasurable friction that she was used to. It took a few more exploratory attempts before Hermione began moving in a somewhat smooth and fruitful rhythm.

It felt good; not as good as when Severus was dominant, but it was good enough. In the back of Hermione's mind, she felt a bit irritated by the distraction of her breasts jumping about with her every movement. It seemed ridiculous to worry about that now, especially knowing that Severus had already seen, touched, and tasted every part of her body.

Her bashfulness was short lived when he reached down and spanned her waist with both hands, bending both knees and leaving his feet flat on the bed, smoothly rolling his hips up against hers. Hermione immediately threw back her head, biting down on her lip to keep the loud cry from resonating throughout her room.

Skillful, insistent hands continued moving her to Severus' will; Hermione was pushed around and thrust up into until she forgot her own name. It took every bit of her self control to not scream out when shortly after she dissolved into shudders.

When she finally came down, Severus pulled Hermione to lie flat against his chest. After guiding her head to his neck he moved his arms to the middle of her back. Hermione briefly pondered over why Severus had strategically placed her so, until he began moving inside her again. Even though she had been trying to contain her moans, she wasn't that successful at doing so, as her voice was getting louder every other minute.

Severus was moving much slower than he preferred, but perhaps it was better as Hermione soon caught onto the rhythm and moved her hips in tandem with his, pushing back to meet each of his deep thrusts.

A slow measure of push and pull had the two trembling against one another. Becoming rapidly caught up in everything, Hermione made it known that she wanted to be kissed, and planted her lips against Severus'. She now moved against him of her own volition, in complete disbelief at how utterly sensual and gratifying the feel of Severus gliding into her body was. It still hurt a bit when she moved down too far, but otherwise his cock touched and rubbed into every sensitive spot on her walls, and it sent tingles up and down her spine. Lost to the pleasure washing over her body, Hermione's hips continued rocking and gyrating, each movement becoming more frantic when she neared orgasm again.

Even though the only sounds in the room consisted of the crackling fireplace, Severus' deep breathing and Hermione's little gasps and moans, both were thinking that neither wanted that moment to end. Besides the feel of Severus inside her, Hermione enjoyed the way his arms were around her, unable to get enough of his soft, hesitant kisses. Severus also took no issue with both arms full of a soft, warm and completely naked Hermione. Also being deeply embedded in her snug, heated channel was nothing short of bliss for the wizard.

With Hermione's hands now on either side of his pillow, Severus could hear her fists pulling at the fabric, and it pleased him to know that he was able to make her become so unraveled. Whenever their kiss momentarily broke, he looked up into her passion-riddled face, noting the way Hermione's brow stayed knitted together, or the way her lips kept parting, right before her teeth bit into the bottom one to stifle her uncontrollable moans.

It was nearly his undoing when Hermione began chanting his name, over and over in a quiet tone of desperation. Suddenly her breath hitched, and her moans culminated to a high-pitched wail. Without second-guessing, Severus grabbed onto Hermione's hair and forced her face back to his, slipping his tongue into her gaped mouth.

If his limbs still ached, Severus paid it no mind. The most pressing matter at that moment was to make Hermione come apart around him again. Her tight walls continued to perfectly grip and tug his shaft. Her initial shyness had completely dissolved, and was now replaced with a raw, frantic ardor that was completely free of artifice.

Severus strongly suspected that Hermione was unaware of the way she was now begging and pleading for him to not stop. The young witch was completely distracted to remember that she was supposed to be kissing him, her senses honing in on the one thing that was driving her to the brink of climax.

Just as he thrust up into her one last time, Hermione had placed her lips back over his, only for her screams to become lost in the warm cavern of his mouth. Severus even found it difficult to contain his deep groans. The two clung tightly to one another, both trembling as Hermione's walls convulsed about his pulsating shaft.

Hermione was the first to fall slack against the wizard. His deflating erection was still tucked inside her body, yet she made no moves to change that. She continued breathily heavily against the side of Severus' neck, able to feel her heart still pounding away.

Severus' labored breathing was lost to the disarray of Hermione's curls, yet he was too knackered to bother pushing the errant strands away from his face. Thankfully Hermione had the forethought to do so, and shifted the entire mass back over one shoulder. He felt completely wrung out, as if the young witch had milked every last drop from his body when her muscles clamped down on him.

"More effective than your paracetamol; would you agree?" he asked after a while, making Hermione weakly laugh.

"I think so," she yawned, nestling her head back down on his chest.

Severus' arms were still around the increasingly drowsy witch, his fingertips languidly stroking the back of her neck. Hermione was asleep long before Severus, and missed the soft kiss he pressed into the top of her head.


	12. Chapter 12

**_A/N: First, cookies, cakes, brownies, and gratuitous pats on the ass go to Punkydoodle for her idea about the shower scene, and then next AutumnsSun for Snape being jealous over our lovely redheaded, freckle-faced duo! Next, I'm still getting around to thanking everyone for the reviews and all for the other chapters, because I don't EVER want you all to think that I don't appreciate them. Even my lovelies that are reviewing under guest-you lot are awesome in the truest sense of the word. Did I mention that I love you? No? Well I do! This is the last chapter at Grimmauld Place and then it's off to Hoggy-Hoggy Hogwarts! hehehehe I know a few of you were asking if I was going to go there and at first I said no, but now...how can I not? I'm having too much fun with Snape and Hermione :D. _**

* * *

Hermione was thoroughly disinclined to move from her curled up position beneath the duvet, as she felt warm and completely at ease. But she knew she had to get up, and forced her limbs to move. Doggedly opening her eyes, she found the other side of her bed empty, the sheet and duvet neatly pulled up to the pillow as if they had never been slept on.

Of course; Severus had been unable to stick around. It wasn't as if she expected for him to stay until she woke up. Even so, the thought sounded nice.

Heaving a sigh as she turned over onto her back, Hermione fully opened her eyes and stared unfocusedly up at the ceiling. Despite the fact that she and Severus had never remained overnight in her room, her bed felt too big and oddly desolate without his thin body next to hers; something she found amusing, considering that physically he didn't take up that much space. His personality, on the other hand...well, Hermione would say that the wizard was in a class of his own. The Potions master was a person that was hard to ignore, especially taking into account his habit of glaring at anyone that dared to come within five feet of his personal space.

One thing was for sure-the wizard definitely hadn't minded Hermione being in his personal space.

* * *

The night before, Severus kept Hermione by his side the entire time. Even in her muddled state, Hermione distinctly remembered that whenever she moved in bed, if she and Severus hadn't been touching, it was only a matter of time before his leg or hand would find its way back to some part of her body.

Hermione hadn't been any different. Cringing when she thought back upon the way she actually pouted when during the night, Severus threw back the duvet and got out of bed. He merely growled in a deep, sleep-ridden tone for Hermione to stop her whinging, that he was going to the bathroom and would be right back. Any other time, she might have balked at being chastised, but the entire situation amused her in an offbeat sort of way, especially since said grousing was coming from a naked wizard with his hair mussed and sticking up on one side.

The bedroom was dimly lit from the still glowing hearth, and Hermione had watched Severus with avid interest as he pulled his black trousers up onto his narrow hips. Bare-chested and wand in hand, he'd left her bedroom in aims of relieving himself. Eagerly waiting for his return, Hermione moved her head over to the still warm spot he'd been sleeping on, and nuzzled her face against his pillow. It smelled like his unwashed hair, yet she kept her cheek pressed against the spot.

As promised, Severus made a hasty return. Locking the door and relegating his trousers to the armchair, he slipped back into bed next to the witch, who scooted back over to her side. Severus remained supine, a glint in his dark eyes visible, enough though they were lying in the dark. It appeared that the wizard had been lost in thought, albeit without forgetting that Hermione was still next to him. His arm easily draped around her shoulders when she moved into his side, resting her head beneath his chin.

The two lay in relative silence, leaving the other to their respective thoughts. Hermione lifted her head only when Severus shifted his arm from around her, moving the witch to lie flat on her back.

There had been countless others that shrank beneath the direct gaze of Severus Snape, yet Hermione wasn't unnerved by the piercing black eyes. The two were face-to-face, so close in proximity that if Severus lowered his head a bit more, the tips of his lank black hair would have caressed her collarbone.

His hair in fact brushed along her skin when Severus lowered his face to Hermione's, his prominent nose grazing her ear when he fixed his lips at the side of her neck. Easily giving in to the little sparks of pleasure prickling at her skin, Hermione raised her arms above her head when Severus propped himself up on his right elbow and kissed a path down to her breasts.

It hadn't taken long for Hermione to become worked up, and she eagerly parted her legs, wordlessly beckoning for his touch to move lower. Severus' left hand moved from cupping the swell of Hermione's breasts, running his palm down the plane of her stomach and to the thatch of curls between her legs, curving it over her sex.

She had closed her eyes once Severus began stroking her skin, reopening them to find that he was staring at her again. Hermione wanted to feel self-conscious; she was two seconds away from crying out as her muscles clamped down on the two fingers that had begun to massage her inner walls. Still, some part of her became more aroused, knowing that she was unable to escape the clutches of those two penetrating obsidian eyes as she was stroked to fever pitch.

As always, Severus knew just where to touch her, well-versed with each area of her body that made Hermione beg for more. He enjoyed watching her lose her head whenever he drifted away from where she needed most, and often did so deliberately. This time Hermione reached down and held onto his hand, making sure Severus kept it between her thighs.

When it was clear that he was going to keep it there, Hermione moved her hand up to the back of Severus' head, clutching onto his hair and pulling him down for a kiss. Within the next few caresses of his thumb against her clit, his two slender fingers plunging into her and drawing out an unmitigated pleasure that took her voice way, Hermione unleashed a silent scream as she trembled from head to toe with the force of her orgasm.

Severus hadn't needed to smother Hermione's cries with his lips, although he still took the opportunity to kiss her, feeling the heat of her soundless panting and gasping against his face. He was surprised when she hastily pulled at his arms, urging him to lie on atop her. The witch kept one hand around his back, lowering the other grabbing hold of his cock, stroking until he was fully erect.

With an air of desperation, Hermione wrapped her legs around his back, arching her body up and cambering her hips against his, waiting for Severus to move into place.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, " Hermione began, stumbling over her words as she frowned up at him. "I didn't think to ask how you were feeling, if you were up to-" She stopped short when she saw that Severus had an eyebrow slightly arched and was surveying her in a droll manner.

"I'll show you how _up to_ the task I am, Miss Granger," he smirked, reaching down to align himself at her entrance.

"_Hermione. _My room counts, too."

"Hermione."

His mouth quirked up in an almost-smile as he peered down at the flustered witch. While Severus found himself amazed by the young woman's unprecedented enthusiasm, it surprised him to find that his also matched. Sinking in to the hilt, he began a slow, steady rhythm of thrusting into her body, his deep groan almost rivaling Hermione's. Severus let out a hiss when he pulled back and felt her walls greedily hugging his shaft, and mused that he would never grow tired of burying himself in that tight, silken sheath which always fit perfectly around him.

Just as he had moments before, Severus took to focusing on Hermione's face again, completely enthralled with her features becoming contorted as a result of their coupling. The young witch's pert, pink lips, which he had become well acquainted with, were parted, sometimes forming a little moue of surprised whenever he brushed against that spot deeply embedded in her tender body that never failed to make her shudder.

He felt a strong urge to taste those lips again, and captured the bottom one between his, lightly suckling it before enveloping both with his own.

The lusty moans pouring from Hermione's mouth never stopped, even as she was being thoroughly kissed. His lips alone seemed to fuel her arousal, and Hermione fervently returned the kiss, her arms and legs tightening around Severus' thin frame the further he moved into her.

The moment Severus pried his lips away from Hermione's to lightly nip at the exposed line of her neck, the witch let out a broken cry, announcing her peak seconds before it came crashing down. Severus had been too engrossed with the feel of her muscles squeezing and gripping him, and forced himself to focus on something else other than his cock. The young witch was now whimpering more than anything, and Severus assumed that she would be able to rein in her clamoring.

He was wrong.

Just as Hermione reached another climax, she threw her head back, her short nails leaving reddened trails against the sallow skin of his shoulders. Severus couldn't afford to have Hermione screaming to the heavens, even though he would have enjoyed nothing more than to hear it. Swiftly, one of his slender hands came down upon her mouth, allowing the remainder of her shrill moans to become muffled against his palm. Her orgasm hadn't been diminished by her screams being dampened, although Severus watched as the witch's eyes actually rolled back, her body taut and trembling against his.

Again, indirectly Hermione managed to cause Severus to momentarily lose each one of his senses when her walls clamped down on him, making him lose control, harder and much sooner than he intended.

It took a long time for the two to come down from their high. They were still breathing heavily when Severus finally moved his hand from Hermione's mouth, to which she let out a gusty sigh. Her head lolled to the side, yet her arms remained around Severus' back, the pads of her fingers idly stroking the taut muscles.

It wasn't long before the slow moving fingers came to a complete stop, yet Hermione's arms continued encircling Severus' body, as if he were a life-sized teddy bear. She was now sound asleep, and never cracked an eye when Severus easily slid out of her grasp to lay to her side. Hermione never noticed the fingers that tenuously traced over the tip of her nose or the curve of her cupid's bow. Lost to the clutches of slumber, she also missed the way the thin-lipped wizard opened his mouth to say something, then paused as if second-guessing himself, silently resigning himself to running his fingers over the smooth, unblemished surface of her cheek.

* * *

Now that it was morning and Hermione found herself alone, she felt a tad bereft. Was she getting attached?

_This isn't good. This isn't good at all, Hermione. What are you thinking? _

It was silly, but she knew that she might as well get over it, and fast. Besides, it wasn't as if she wouldn't see Snape later on that night.

That thought was her only motivation to get out of bed and carry on with her day.

Still, she was loathe to slip out from between the sheets that still had the wizard's faint scent embedded into the fibers.

* * *

An hour later, Hermione made her way downstairs, hesitating on the staircase when she heard the unmistakable shrill voice of Mrs Weasley. The maternal witch was walking out into the hallway and caught sight of Hermione just as her front foot came down from the last step.

"Hello, dear," she began in a rather brisk manner. "You can go down to the kitchen if you want breakfast; hopefully my sons left you something."

Receiving a gentle pat on the cheek, Hermione continued on to the basement, even though she didn't have much of an appetite. Harry and Ron were both at the table, along with Mr Weasley and Ginny. Ron was shoveling food into his mouth at an amazingly speed while simultaneously holding a conversation with his father. Ginny and Harry were engrossed with their own banter, and Hermione quietly sat down with her plate, nibbling at a piece of toast.

She had just begun working on her eggs when Mrs Weasley came into the kitchen, immediately launching into a discourse about making plans for September first. Hermione's stomach rolled with trepidation at the mere mention of Hogwarts, and she dropped her fork and pushed her plate away.

"Mum, do we have to talk about school now?" Ron groaned, pulling a face at his mother.

Mrs Weasley pointedly ignored her son, and went on talking.

"Arthur's already sorted everything out, but I want you three to have your trunks packed by the weekend. No waiting until the last minute."

"Sure thing, Mum," Ginny answered, winking at Harry when the elderly witch had her head turned.

Ron and Mr Weasley were both still in the middle of clearing their plates, and missed the covert exchange. Hermione noticed it, and fought back a giggle when she saw the crooked smile on Harry's reddening face.

"Oh, Harry, before Professor Snape left, he mentioned that he wanted me to tell you to mind a closer eye on Kreacher," Mrs Weasley continued. "Did something happen while we weren't here?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Harry replied. "Well, Hermione did trip over him the other night."

"I almost tripped," Hermione clarified, shaking her head. "It's not a big deal."

"Not likely, Hermione," Ron frowned. "Bloody thing tried to trip you; that's not _no big deal._"

"Yeah, well, it was enough for Snape to bang at my door before the sun even thought about coming up this morning, telling me to mind my house-elf," Harry grumbled under his breath.

"Where is Snape anyway?" Ron asked, looking at his mother.

"Professor Snape, Ronald. And he's gone back to Hogwarts. I suppose he has to get his lessons ready before school is back in session."

Ron's brown eyes became so wide, Hermione thought they were in danger of popping out of his head and landing next to her abandoned plate of eggs. "D'you mean he's gone? _Gone_ gone? We don't have to see him again?"

"Ron," Mr Weasley sighed, although it looked as if he was trying to contain his laughter at his son's enthusiasm. "Only for the rest of the week, until you kids are back at school."

"Who cares!" Ron shouted, an ear-to-ear grin plastered across his face. "Hear that, Harry? We don't have to see Snape's greasy face lurking about anymore!"

Mrs Weasley ignored her son's last comment, although the look in her eyes was enough for him to fall silent. Hermione, on the other hand, was trying to think of a way to innocently inquire as to where Snape had gone, without making herself seem obvious, and was glad when Mrs Weasley had continued talking.

_Gone? _Hermione thought mournfully. _And he didn't even tell me that he was leav-I can't think about this right now. I won't think about._

Which was a lie. Hermione couldn't help _but_ to harp on the fact that Severus was no longer at Grimmauld place. It was as if a block of ice had taken up residence in the pit of her stomach, and suddenly she was glad that she didn't finish her breakfast.

Yet Hermione knew that couldn't afford to think about it. She knew that if she thought about the wizard, her face would give something away. The best option was to wait until she was alone where she could ruminate over the newfound and surprisingly distressing information.

* * *

Unfortunately for the rest of the day, Hermione barely found time to be alone, never mind keep company with her own thoughts. Mrs Weasley had the four teenagers cleaning again, and Ron trailed in behind her to help sort out a room that had been long neglected.

"We don't even come in here," Ron fussed to no one in particular, even though he leaned over a table and swiped a finger across its surface, leaving behind a shiny line of wood in between a rather thick coating of dust. "And I don't know why Mum makes us clean whenever she's over. At least Snape hid in his room all day."

"What? Are you saying that you prefer Professor Snape's company?" Hermione asked, feigning shock.

"_No!_" Ron shot back. "All I'm saying is, at least he didn't come out from hiding to make us...dust! _WHAT THE-?!"_

"Ouch, Ron!" Hermione yelped, tuning out the swears pouring from the redhead's mouth and pushing at his shoulder when he scampered backwards and trod right over her foot.

"Bloody spiders!" he exclaimed with a vicious shudder, throwing down his rag on top of the table that he'd been wiping. "I'm getting out of here!"

"Fine, Ronald, go!" Hermione told him, pointing with her own rag at the door. Ron didn't need to be told twice; he moved so fast it was as if he had Apparated.

Shaking her head, Hermione lifted up the rag that had been thrown down, scoffing when she caught sight of the spider that was no bigger than a thumbtack. She knew that Ron had been traumatised by Hagrid's friend, Aragog, but the acromantula had been roughly about the size of a small car. This tiny spider, which was now making its way around the edge of the table, was smaller than her pinky nail. Still chuckling, Hermione finished her work, grateful to be doing so without Ron complaining in her ear.

* * *

By dinnertime, Hermione was at her wits end. All day, she tried her best not to think about the fact that Snape was no longer at Grimmauld Place. But the biggest issue that refused to leave her mind was the fact that he had gone, without saying that he was leaving. She did, however, take some small comfort in the fact that he openly went to Harry's room before going, to tell the young wizard to demand that he keep closer eye on his house-elf. Harry hadn't know what to make of his unexpected and unappreciated visit, as it was no secret that he had an intense dislike for the Potions master, and he took more than one opportunity to complain to Ron and Hermione about it.

Hermione took Snape's succinct message, which Harry had repeated verbatim, and in a voice reminiscent of the professor-_Potter, mind your house-elf before it tries kill someone, lest you be held liable-_to mean that he hadn't forgotten about the way Kreacher had been skulking about each time she was alone. She also knew that it wouldn't do for her to sit alone late at night in the drawing room any longer. Not that it made a difference, her reason for lurking around had been to wait for the raven-haired, waspishly-tongued wizard. Now her billowing black-cloaked reason had left Grimmauld Place without a trace or a word of goodbye, and Hermione couldn't help but feel slighted.

Emotions running from affronted to hurt, Hermione climbed into bed that night, trying to forget about everything, and trying to keep threatening tears from spilling over.

Ginny had picked another room to sleep it. At first, Hermione had been grateful for the privacy, but now realized that a bit of chatter with her friend would have served as some sort of reprieve from her meandering thoughts.

Of course, Hermione knew it was ridiculous to expect for Snape to have told her goodbye. When had he ever stuck to exchanging pleasantries with anyone? The fact that the two had slept together never stopped him from snapping at her, even though she conceded that the wizard had been justified in doing so each time. It also didn't stop her from feeling like a child that had just been chastised. Still, Hermione didn't read too much into it; it wasn't as if his fussing was malicious. She _should _have taken more heed the night before, knowing that Harry's spiteful house-elf continuously lingered around.

When Hermione first got into bed, she immediately moved over to the side Snape slept on, and was disappointed when she found that his scent was completely gone. She remain prone, a nagging feeling of irritation completely taking over.

Hermione had worn her voluminous nightgown to bed, and usually it was comfortable. Now all the extra material only served to annoy her. No matter which way she moved, it twisted about and pulled, until finally she sat up, yanked the entire thing over her head, and tossed it to the foot of the bed. A flick of her wand at the hearth replenished the fire, and ensured that she would stay warm throughout the night.

She felt a bit silly, lying there beneath the duvet, clad only in her knickers. The sentiment, however, wasn't enough to make her want to put the nightgown back on. Hermione realised that she had grown used to sleeping naked, although it mostly occurred purely because she'd been too tired and sweaty after tangling with Severus to put clothes back on.

Severus had no objection to Hermione sleeping naked, nor did he also bother with redressing. Usually Hermione would fall asleep directly afterwards, using his chest or shoulder as a pillow, the wizard's slender arm in turn draped across her body.

To her dismay, Hermione found that she had also grown accustomed to sleeping next to Severus. Even though she felt tired, her brain was alert and refused to let her sleep. Flopping over onto her back, Hermione thumped her head against the pillow, staring up into the darkness of her bedroom. She felt restless; more restless than the time she drank three cups of strongly brewed tea an hour before bedtime, even though her father told her not to. All that night Hermione felt wired, and it was nearly daybreak when she finally closed her sore and bloodshot eyes.

Now felt even worse than that time. She supposed that she could go knock on Ginny's door, but the thought of the house-elf possibly lying in wait in the hallway was enough for her to stay put in her room.

Roughly shifting her arms beneath the sheets and heavy duvet, Hermione ran her hands over her stomach and thighs, hoping that the sensation would make her relax.

_Too fast,_ she thought, forcing herself to move slower, the way Severus usually started out.

Using just her fingertips, Hermione slid them up to her breasts, grazing the undersides. Remembering the way Severus' thin lips felt as they captured a nipple made her shudder, yet the feel of her hands were all wrong.

Hermione had small hands and fingers, and her skin was entirely too soft, something that wasn't a plus at the moment. Severus' hands were just as slender, yet his long, tapered fingers had small calluses on the pads, and she'd grown used to feeling them against her body. While his hands weren't bulky, resembling paws or the like, they were big enough to cup one of her breasts into them. Thin fingers would cup and span over an entire small mound, while her nipple would rub against the creases of his palm, and it had been enough for her to arch up into his touch, always wanting more.

Feeling like an idiot and laughing wryly under her breath, Hermione told herself that her touch didn't even come close to being a parody of the professor's. She wanted to give him an earful for leaving without saying a word, the thought of his very absence making her blood boil.

Wondering how long she would be able to stay away from the wizard without completely losing her mind, Hermione yanked her hands away from her breasts and raised them above her head, shoving them beneath the pillow. Forcing her eyes shut, Hermione willed herself to calm down, concentrating on anything else but the arousal racing throughout her body. She finally relaxed enough to loosen her grip on the pillow, even if her skin continued to prickle with goose bumps whenever she thought about wrapping her legs around Snape's bony waist, while he plunged deep into her body.

For the remainder of the week, until the day to leave for Hogwarts arrived, Hermione tried her best to not get into a row with anyone. She ranged from feeling irritated to mopish, all the while making sure to keep her bad mood hidden from the others. If anything, everyone thought that Hermione was a tad quieter than usual. Perhaps they chalked it up to the stress of the upcoming school year, or whatever other ideas, because no one asked what was bothering her.

Hermione also knew that everyone else was dealing with issues of their own, and the last thing she wanted to do was force attention upon herself. Doubly, because of the reason for her mood, of which she couldn't talk about, even if she wanted to.

There was definitely no one that she wanted to confide in about her illicit relationship with the Potions master. Visions of being sent off to some rigid all-girls' boarding school danced through her head, followed by ones of Snape being thrown into Azkaban, for sure. Perhaps not Azkaban, as she was of age, but surely he would be fired from his position at Hogwarts, and she would feel terrible.

Hogwarts.

That brought Hermione to another dilemma. How the hell was she supposed to deal with him on a regular basis? Would he still assign detention and take points from Gryffindor because she'd given the correct answers in class? Or was she supposed to keep her head and hand down, never making eye contact with the professor? It was all so confusing. And of course, Snape left without a uttering a single word, possibly because he didn't want to have to deal with the barrage of questions like so that were now running through Hermione's head.

The young witch knew that she had a tendency to over think, and overanalyze _everything,_ something that either worked for her, or against her. Right now it was working against her, because Ginny and Mrs Weasley were standing a few feet away, and Hermione nearly missed what the older witch asked her.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, I was just asking if you needed some help, dear," Mrs Weasley repeated. "Ginny's already packed her trunk; we've just left the few things she'll need on top."

"No thank you, Mrs Weasley. I've got it, thanks," Hermione told her.

"Hermione, I think this belongs to you," she suddenly heard Mr Weasley say as he walked into the room.

"Crooks!" Hermione squealed, breaking out into a wide grin as she took the familiar beige carrier case. "Did my parents send him?"

"Yes. Seems they thought you wouldn't want to go off to school without your familiar."

"How did they manage that?" Mrs Weasley asked her husband, a tone of suspicion in her voice.

"Let's just say that a well-versed postal worker helped," Mr Weasley replied, winking down at a still smiling Hermione. She had set the carrier on the floor and immediately opened the small cage door. The half cat/kneazle took his time sauntering out on his bandy legs, turning his squashed orange face up at everyone in the room. Crookshanks then gracefully jumped onto the bed, treating everyone to one last look with as much derision as an animal could muster, giving a great show of furry orange cat behind as he curled up into a ball and closed his eyes.

"Well, Crooks seems comfortable, at least," Ginny giggled. "He didn't take long to settle in."

"He never does," Hermione mused, looking down at her cat. "He's easy to please. Just make sure he's fed and petted, and he's happy as a pig in mud."

"Or a kitty with catnip," Mrs Weasley supplied. "Alright, then, I'll leave you girls to it," she said, following her husband out of the room.

"Say, Hermione," Ginny began, leaning across the bed and gently stroking the top of Crookshanks' head. "Did your parents say anything about not letting you go back to school, you know, after everything last year?"

"No, well...well, they weren't happy, but...I don't know what else I would do. I can't see myself going back to regular school, not after coming this far at Hogwarts. And besides, they don't exactly know the details of everything that happened at the Ministry."

"Really?"

Hermione nodded. "I didn't want to scare them _too_ badly. If you met my parents, you'd understand. I had to have a bit of a pull with them just to let me stay here with Ron and Harry all summer."

"Well, I can understand why," Ginny mused, still stroking the cat's fluffy orange fur. "It was quiet at the Burrow without those two banging around. Even Fred and George were too busy with setting up things for their joke shop. I didn't spend much time with them all summer."

"You should have relished the quiet," Hermione sniggered.

"Oh, believe me-I did. Besides the short visit we had from Bill, it was mostly just Mum and I at home. No men to leave the toilet seat up, no fighting with Ron to hurry up and get out of the bathroom-"

"That tosser! He did the same thing here!" Hermione cut in. "Ron and Harry _know_ that I use the bath on this floor because I preferred the tub. And your brother runs into that exact one after dinner when he knew I was on my way there."

"That's Ron for you," Ginny rolled her eyes. "But yeah, sometimes it was too quiet at home, but at least I got to see Harry when we visited. Oh-and thank you, by the way," she winked. "I don't know how you kept my brother away, but I owe you one. I owe you a lot, in fact."

"I won't ask for much; one of your Bat-Bogey Hexes at your brother whenever he annoys me, or blood from a stone. Whichever."

"I think I prefer to hex my brother," Ginny cackled. "Blood from a stone is overrated, don't you think?"

"Hmm, you're right. Speaking of your brother, I wonder what he and Harry are up to."

"Dunno. Hopefully those two weren't silly enough to go into their little stash of drinks with Mum and Dad around."

Hermione's mouth fell open, and she knew the look on her face gave away the fact that she knew about the boys' 'stash'.

"Oh, please, Hermione," Ginny scoffed. "Don't think that because I'm not around, that I don't know what's going on. I was the one that found all of that butterbeer and Firewhisky in the first place. Then Ron nearly jumped over me and Harry to cover it back up, saying to not let Mum know. So I know they did something when we left that day."

"Something?" Hermione echoed. She first made Ginny promise to not repeat anything, and then filled her in on the drunken antics of the two young wizards. The redhead laughed so loudly that Crookshanks stirred out of his catnap, lazily cracking open one fiery eye to glare at the chortling witch, before closing it and resuming his slumber.

"I'm sorry, Crooks!" she softly apologised. "See? I know my brother, and of course, Harry is going to go along right with him."

"Yes, well..." Hermione trailed off, turning up her nose. "I only had that one butterbeer Ron gave me. I didn't fancy the idea of being tethered to a toilet, puking my guts out the next morning."

"Oh? Experience with that, have you?" Ginny snickered.

"No, Ginny!" Hermione laughed. "But I've read about hangovers. Hmm, actually, I remember one New Years Eve with Mum and Dad...I was still too young to really know anything other than him feeling poorly, but I do know that Dad offered to give me a blank cheque if I stopped flipping the pages of my book too loudly."

"Well, that's definitely a new one," Ginny replied, shaking her head. "One Christmas, Dad had too much wine. The next morning, he had to stay in bed while we all went down to open presents. Said that if we found him new ears in one of the boxes or a quieter set of progeny that he'd come downstairs to sit with everyone."

"Oh no!"

"Oh yes! Mum laughed, but told the rest of us that we couldn't laugh. Then she told Dad that he should have stopped at three glasses. I'll admit, that elderflower wine is good, but the sugar goes right to your head."

"Hmm, you know an awful lot about it to not be of age," Hermione teased.

"A house full of brothers, and you really expect for me to _not_ know things? Come on, Hermione, don't be dim."

"Fine. I'll be brilliantly lit. Now let's go downstairs and bother Ron and Harry. Hopefully they're behaving and not sneaking drinks like you suggested."

With her cat by her side, Hermione found it a bit easier to sleep for her remaining nights at Grimmauld Place. By then it was a full week since she'd last laid eyes on Snape, and to her chagrin, the tight feeling in her chest never once subsided whenever the memory of the two spending time together invaded her thoughts.

On some level, Hermione felt like a simpering schoolgirl that was completely besotted by her first beau. Only Hermione didn't _simper_ and Snape definitely wasn't her beau. She briefly considered the phrase 'shag-buddies' but even unspoken, the words sounded completely silly, and in no way fit the oddly-shaped mechanics of her and the Potion master's relationship.

Hermione didn't feel as if she was merely an object for him to slake his lust, nor did she get the idea that the wizard had some deep, meaningful sentiment with her in mind. Like always, she didn't expect Snape to put a label on anything, much less share or openly ruminate over it.

Yet the way he held her at night and kissed her...Hermione didn't want to tell herself that it meant something, but was unable to. Previously, Snape barely let her touch him, much less kiss him. She got the idea that whatever women he previously passed time with, kisses and embracing and gentle caresses were never part of the deal.

The wizard had been outright reluctant and even distrustful the first time Hermione put her arms around him. Remembering the way he stiffened up, as if he were a five-year-old boy being accosted by an elderly auntie with a full fringe of mustache to 'give us a kiss', she began laughing.

Now, it seemed as if he quietly welcomed her embrace, or aptly, did little more than just tolerate it. No, he definitely welcomed it. Their shared embraces had become almost second nature. Once they were lying quietly in bed, long fingers would stroke along the dip in her spine, while Hermione's shorter digits grazed over the old scars mapped across Severus' back. Even though they spent most of their time in the dark, beneath a shroud of bed sheets and duvets, Severus always stripped completely down, never once trying to hide his body from Hermione.

Hermione had a world of her own insecurities, some of them stemming from being a late bloomer, yet the wizard never made disparaging remarks about what she believed to be a too frail-looking body. On top of that, every time she undressed, Hermione found it hard to ignore the angry slash across her chest that remained from Dolohov's wand.

Most people would probably think Hermione too much of a bookworm, too worried about printed and leather-bound words instead of caring about painting her face. The truth was, she still had insecurities just like any other young woman that just reached adulthood. Many of the girls she went to school seemed quite comfortable with themselves. Now that they were getting older, at least half of them seemed to have become skilled overnight at primping and polishing, and curling or straightening their hair.

The one time Hermione tried to fix herself up had been for the Yule Ball in her third year. Applying that goop to her hair had been one instance too many, and she vowed that she would much rather deal with her bushy curls instead of trying to tame them with the foul-smelling concoction.

The other cosmetics had been purchased in a Muggle shop and sent via owl from her Mum. Mascara and lip gloss were easy enough to use, even though Hermione didn't care for the plastic-y taste that she encountered as she attempted to eat dinner before the ball. Most of it ended up on her linen napkin, and the remainder of it had been kissed, rather, licked, off by Viktor later that night.

Shuddering at the memory, Hermione remembered that it was Viktor's broad, too wet, too slimy tongue that rubbed off the pale pink lip colour. He never complained about the artificial taste, going in for another kiss until Hermione danced away from him, feigned exhaustion, and asked for him to walk her back inside.

Snape didn't seem like the sort that gave a damn if a woman painted her face or not. Of course, Hermione hadn't really the opportunity to ask what sort of witches he typically went for. Then again...most likely, chances were she didn't want to know.

Besides, at that point, Hermione decided if she was going to get tarted up, it would be for herself and no one else.

Crooks hadn't taken to her sleek hair all that easy. When Hermione returned from the ball-in a fit of tears, thanks to Ron-she'd drawn the curtains around her four-poster bed and flopped facedown onto the mattress. The kneazle had then crawled on top of her back, batting his paws at the slippery strands. Hermione tried to make him stop to no avail, but Crookshanks' antics had been the only thing to stop her tears that night.

Even though Severus had made more than one comment with thinly-veiled disparity about her 'unruly hair' as he called it, whenever the two shared a bed, Hermione sometimes noticed that in the midst of sleep, she felt long fingers against her scalp, sometimes carding through the thick curls.

Now that Hermione was thinking on it, she realised that never once had there been an instance where Severus told Hermione that she ought to fix herself up, or straighten out her curls, or any of the other ridiculous things that boys her age seemed to take great interest in when it came to the fairer sex. Of course, she reasoned that he didn't have time for such trivial notions. But most importantly, she appreciated how he never stared at her scar. More surprising, Hermione found that she forgot about it whenever she was next to Severus in bed, even if his hands were roving over her bare skin.

Unfortunately, the only thing touching her skin right now was Crookshanks' tail. The cat was now curled up at her side, his head facing the end of the bed, purring happily as Hermione stroked his back.

"You're spoilt, do you know that?" she murmured, reaching down to scratch his head.

The only response she got was his bottlebrush tail sweeping over her forearm, as if to say _keep rubbing my back._

"It's a shame you can't give out advice, Crooks, unless it's the best way to catch a spider or a mouse. Because I could really use another pair of ears, even ones that are pointy and covered in fur."

As if he understood what Hermione was telling him, the cat kneazle turned around so that his squashed face was upturned to hers, yawning broadly and exposing two rows of tiny, sharp teeth, and settling back down as if waiting for the witch to continue.

"Oh yeah, Crooksie? Are you a psychoanalyst now? Do I pay you in Galleons or catnip?"

Crookshanks surveyed Hermione with two partially-opened red eyes, looking so surly that it nearly reminded her of Severus. Hermione laughed, but then felt completely silly for talking to her cat as if he were a person. When it was clear that the witch decided to be quiet, Crookshanks closed his eyes, resuming his nap.

"You're lucky you're a cat, Crookshanks. At least you lead a life of leisure. So far I've nearly been killed by a troll, Petrified by a basilisk, and had one too many close encounters with a hag in pink. Not to mention this," Hermione continued, lifting the collar of her nightgown and peering down at her chest. "I'm almost scared to ask what's next."

Hermione was still unable to verbalize her thoughts about a certain wizard. It wasn't as if anyone besides Crookshanks would hear her, but she preferred to keep all of her thoughts buried in the nooks and crannies of her mind for the time being.

* * *

**_*shall I bend over for another e-paddling?*_**


	13. Chapter 13

**_A/N: A shorter chapter, but I promise we'll get back to the naughty-naughty. It's Thanksgiving here tomorrow in the States, and I wanted to post this bit before everyone gets stuffed on their turkey, chicken, ham, tofurkey, turdurcken, and everything else, if you are celebrating, so, Happy Thanksgiving!. All I want is chocolate cake, or some pie, but when don't I want cake or pie? *sticks out hands for cakes and pie* _**

**_I love and adore you all and thank you for the reviews! I mean it when I say they really do help, as I'm tearing through a new chapter right now. The reviews and all keep the Muse going and ideas flowing :D For all of those that have alerted and saved this story to their favs, hugs, kisses, and more pats on the butt. Did I mention that every review comes with a kiss from the witch and/or wizard of your choice? hehe they don't know that, so don't tell them._**

* * *

The last thing Hermione felt like doing was tending to her Prefect duties on the Hogwarts Express. Ron wasn't much help either; soon as the group had waved goodbye to his parents, and the train pulled out of King's Cross Station, he began looking around for the food trolley.

Hermione reminded him that they had to patrol the corridors, to which Ron pulled a face, but grudgingly trailed behind her anyway. Once the kerfuffle of students milling about died down, Ron and Hermione went back to the compartment that they were sharing with Harry, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood. Hermione had just sat down to catch her breath when a younger student tapped on the window of their compartment, handing over something to Harry and Neville, which turned out to be invitations to sit in another compartment with Hogwarts' new professor, Horace Slughorn.

Right at the beginning of summer, Harry had been introduced to Slughorn by Dumbledore. He hadn't made secret of the fact that he didn't really care for the man, and no further mention of him was made all summer. Now, Harry looked as if he didn't want to be bothered, but said that he might as well go and get what he called a 'friendly interrogation' over with. Ron sulked at being left behind, only placated when Harry gave him the remainder of his licorice wands.

Hermione could see why Harry wasn't fond of Professor Slughorn. Despite the fact that the portly man bore a wide grin beneath his walrus mustache, his laughter was clearly brimming over with artifice. As she passed him earlier in the train corridors, it seemed that even some of the Slytherin students who had been in his compartment, Blaise Zabini among his peers, also found the man odd, judging by the looks on their faces, yet each kept their thoughts to themselves.

Either way, she was glad that she hadn't been invited. Of course, now she had to put up with Ron noisily smacking on his small mountain of snacks, but at least Luna was quietly reading what looked like an issue of her father's magazine, _The Quibbler. _Luna had been providing a soft-spoken one-sided commentary each time she flipped the pages of her magazine, murmuring things in that lilting voice of hers, which made Ron frown in her direction. The young blonde witch paid neither of them any mind, and went right on talking to herself.

_Well, at least she isn't answering herself, unlike someone else I know._

_I refuse to dignify that with a response._

_Hmph. Like I said..._

Bristling at her inner musings, Hermione bent down to check on Crookshanks, who'd been placed in his basket and was on the floor next to her feet. Unsurprisingly, she found that the cat was doing his favourite thing-taking a nap.

_Glad one of us is able to rest._

She hadn't slept well all that week, and the night before proved to be even harder, because she kept deliberating what would happen when she finally set eyes on the black-robed Potions master once they arrived at Hogwarts. Hermione hadn't a clue how she was supposed to behave, and worked herself up into such a dither that it was nearly dawn when she finally fell asleep. It seemed that she had just closed her eyes when Ginny came knocking at her bedroom door, saying that she could come down for breakfast.

That entire morning, feeling as if she were walking through fog, Hermione perfunctorily directed students about once they were on the train. Giving directions was something that came easy, and it provided some small distraction until she was able to let Prefects from other houses take over.

The train ride felt too long, as the same time, seemingly too short. As the Hogwarts Express chugged along, Hermione felt her stomach clench with anxiety, until finally she abruptly stood up from her seat in the corner, stepped over a drowsy-looking Ron, who appeared as if he was about to tip sideways onto his seat and use the door as a headrest.

Sliding the door shut behind her, Hermione stepped out into the corridor, where a few students were lingering about. The air was punctuated with students laughing and the train whistle blowing in sporadic increments. Pausing to stare out of the window, Hermione watched the greenery of the countryside passing by in a blur, her eyes gradually becoming unfocused.

Not seeing Severus for a week had done nothing to keep at bay the flashbacks of their naked bodies pressed together, cloaked in nothing but sweat and pale candlelight. No matter what she had been in the middle of doing, she kept finding herself thinking about his lips awkwardly moving against hers, his fingers pressed deep inside her body while his mouth covered one of her breasts. The memory that stuck out most clearly in her mind was when they finally moved beyond kissing and touching.

Hermione didn't think she would ever forget that first time; if she ever needed to know what being splinched probably felt like, that had been her opportunity. It felt as if Severus had been trying to split her in two when he moved faster than she would have liked past her virginity. It hurt a lot more than she anticipated, and even through her agony, she had noticed something trickling down the crease of her behind. Hermione had wondered if she was bleeding, but at the time was too nervous to ask, and too caught up with the feel of Severus freely moving inside her to focus on anything else. She'd felt like an idiot when they were done, positive that she looked graceless and inept, sprawled out on his rumpled bedding. Thankfully, Severus never made a remark or drew attention to her obvious inexperience. Hermione had pretended to not notice when he passed his wand over her damp skin; his magic had felt warm, soothing almost, even if it hadn't taken away the residual ache between her legs.

Outside of her first time, the pleasure she found in the Potion master's wiry arms was enthralling and kept her coming back for more. It wasn't as if his reticent nature had changed all that much, but at least he no longer attempted to turn her away.

The thought of no longer being able to experience what she did with Snape made Hermione feel on edge. Deep down she knew the thought was utter madness, but some latent part of her didn't care. She didn't want to have to worry about what would happen had they been caught. She didn't want to think about the unavoidable fact that they weren't supposed to be sleeping together.

The truth was, when Hermione was with Severus, whether they were joined at the hip or merely lying next to one another, she had the opportunity to shut her brain off, even if it was short lived. It only just occurred to her that she never worried about the ramifications of their illicit relationship; all she knew was that in the moment, it felt right.

Apart from spending time with the professor with her clothes off, Hermione also felt that same sense of peace when they were merely sitting in his room, reading quietly. It had been a bit of reprieve without Ron shouting in her ear or whinging on about something. Harry was a little better than the redhead, but sometimes Hermione needed a break from both her best friends. It was nothing personal; there had been times when she needed a break from her own thoughts running rampant through head.

Her two best friends were sweet, usually supportive of her. But the fact remained that they were still two teenage boys who at times hadn't known what to make of the female member of their trio. Snape wasn't much better, but perhaps being Head of House and dealing with female students between the ages of eleven and seventeen had taught him something.

In any event, the professor never tried to question Hermione or get to know the workings of her mind; perhaps because he had enough of his own troubles to contend with, or it might have been that he already had her figured out. He would lay into her if needed, but then again, the wizard soundly lit into anyone that trod on his nerves. Whatever the case was, Hermione brooked no issue with it. The only time she remembered Snape pressing her was when she'd kept showing up at his room, before he finally consented to letting her stay.

Pursing her lips, Hermione wondered what would happen if she showed up at Snape's private rooms in his dungeon at Hogwarts. Of course, she didn't exactly know where it was, considering the layout of the Potions classroom. The only other part of the classroom to which she had personal experience with was his storeroom for ingredients. Hermione didn't remember seeing a separate door that might have led to another area, but knowing Snape, that was most likely by design. Although a part of her wondered if the touchy wizard ever had anyone in his rooms.

_Why are you even worrying about that, Hermione? You know damn well that you need to stay away from him._

_Of course, I know that. _

_Yeah, sure. Your head knows it, but what about the rest of you? Namely the part of you that's covered by your knickers?_

_Shut up, shut up, shut up!_

Hermione scoffed impatiently, and realized that she probably looked like a person that was a bit touched in the head, as a young Hufflepuff that had been passing by, paused to curiously look at her. Waving them away, Hermione recomposed herself and went back to her compartment.

* * *

By the time Hermione and the other Prefects helped usher the students off the train once they reached the station at Hogsmeade, she was too caught up with everything to think about the fact that she was undoubtedly going to see Severus once they got to Hogwarts.

Deputy Headmistress and Gryffindor's Head of House, Professor McGonagall, met everyone at the entrance hall, announcing for all first year students to wait outside while sending everyone else in. Harry wasn't at the Gryffindor table when Ron and Hermione took their seats, and Ron suggested that he had probably gotten caught up with the others that went to sit with Professor Slughorn.

All around her, Hermione listened to students chattering excitedly, greeting the ghosts that floated past above their heads, one of them making a group of Ravenclaw girls squeal when they hovered too low.

_Honestly?_ Hermione thought, rolling her eyes. She was glad, however, that Peeves the Poltergeist was elsewhere, although that other place was most likely in front of the Great Hall, bothering the first years as he liked to do, if McGonagall hadn't yet chased him off.

Across from her, Ron was engaged in conversation with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, all three boys oblivious to everything around them. Ginny was further down the table, talking with her own group of friends. Directing her attention to the staff dais, Hermione saw that most of the other professors were already sitting down, all except for a certain black-haired wizard that she was pretending to not think about.

McGonagall finally led the first years into the Great Hall, where it took what seemed like ages for everyone to become sorted into each House. Harry still hadn't shown up, nor had Hermione caught sight of Snape, both of which caused her to worry.

Dishes of pudding had just materialized on the dining tables when Harry finally came into the Great Hall, holding up a bloodied cloth to his nose. He was in no mood to talk as he sat down next to Ron, and thickly muttered behind the cloth that he would fill them in later.

Still frowning, Hermione turned her head when the voice of Dumbledore rang out over the vast open space. Snape was now sitting at the staff dais. He wore a look of utmost contempt on his face, and yet Hermione felt her stomach doing somersaults at first sight of the professor.

Even though they were far apart, Hermione couldn't help but to continue looking in Snape's direction. She used the pretense of listening to Dumbledore's beginning of term speech, although her eyes kept drifting to the vicinity of light blue-robed headmaster's right side. Severus was seated between Professors McGonagall and Slughorn. His face usually ranged between a look of impassiveness or disdain, but it was clear, if only to Hermione, that something else, something new, lurked behind the deep lines marring his forehead.

She was surprised to hear that the Potions master was taking over the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, and that Slughorn would be taking over Potions. Harry gave Hermione a shrug when she looked at him for confirmation, saying that he didn't know anything about the post change.

The only indication that Snape gave to acknowledge Dumbledore's announcement was a small wave, which had been directed to the Slytherin table. McGonagall seemed to straighten up in her seat at the gesture, yet looked straight ahead at Gryffindor table, glaring at her students through square-shaped spectacles, her eyes warning them to keep quiet.

Hermione didn't mind Snape teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts; who else was better suited than one who had personal experience with Dark magic? Of course, she was sure that everyone, perhaps with the exception of Dumbledore, was ignorant when it came to the more tenebrous aspects of Snape's life. Still, in an unbiased manner, Hermione was sure that Snape would prove to be proficient at teaching Defence.

Pushing her thoughts of how Snape would fare in his new position, Hermione couldn't help but notice that the professor never once looked at her, much less in her direction. It seemed as if he was engrossed with something behind her, although she didn't want to turn around to find out what that something was.

Dumbledore finally stopped talking, and Harry used that opportunity to fill Hermione and Ron on why he had taken so long to come to the school. Once he was done, Hermione was quiet, not sure what to say after hearing the way Snape had talked to Harry, especially considering the way Draco had kicked her friend in the face.

_Well, did you expect anything different?_ Hermione bitterly asked herself.

She didn't expect for Draco Malfoy, Golden Boy of Slytherin, to be punished for his outright horrid behavior. Venturing a look over at Slytherin table, she saw that the blond, who was usually sociable and brimming over with cockiness, was sitting off to the side, uncharacteristically quiet and staring down at a barely touched plate of dessert. The other members of Cirque du Snakes were off in their own world; Pansy Parkinson was casting eyes at Draco, sulking when she was ignored. Crabbe and Goyle never once stopped stuffing their faces, and Blaise was sitting stiffly, looking as if he was bored with everything and everyone around him.

_I know the feeling, Zabini,_ Hermione chuckled, surprised to find that she was siding with another Slytherin.

She briefly wondered why Draco looked so forlorn, then remembered that his father had been sent to Azkaban directly after the battle at the Ministry. Even though she had a strong dislike for the Malfoy family, a sliver of magnanimity reared its head, and Hermione felt bad for her classmate. After all, he was young, just like her, and caught up in something that started before they were all born and were unable to control.

At that thought, the voice of her former Potions professor suddenly filled her head;

_...I expect that you would be the sort to pet a rattlesnake and try to justify its reaction when it bites you._

Scowling as she turned around in her seat, Hermione told herself that if she hadn't helped a certain snake that had a penchant for wearing all black, he would have suffered more than was necessary while at Grimmauld Place. Of course, chances were Snape never really _needed_ her help; Hermione was sure that he had been doing reasonably well for himself way before she came along, whether it was him feeding himself or tending to his bleeding wounds.

Hermione had been surprised when Snape allowed her to assist him in the first place. She would never let him know it, but for a fleeting moment, when she first saw him lying there on the floor of Grimmauld Place, she half expected Snape to hex her on the spot, purely for annoying him with her presence. Hermione wasn't daft enough to think that it would have made a difference whether she came to help or hurt him; either way would have garnered the same reaction. Although had it been the latter reason, said hex would most likely have been fired before she had the chance to blink.

When dinner was finally over with and the students sent off to their dormitories, Hermione rushed ahead of the throngs of students, in aims of directing their group up to the Gryffindor dormitory. Ron lagged behind to chat with Harry, and Hermione didn't bother with asking him to help her.

Draco was standing a few feet away from her, and Hermione peered at the Prefect pin on his robes. Shaking her head, she wondered just how he managed to ended up being Prefect. If grades were given for goofing off and skiving off homework, Draco would have perfect marks. Poor grades did nothing to deflate his ego, and being given the position as Prefect only served to inflate it.

Unfortunately, it was obvious that he took more joy in abusing his position than anything. At the moment, he was shuffling along in front of a cackling group of Slytherins, ignoring two students who were passing around something that clearly wasn't supposed to be on Hogwarts property. It eluded her as to how the two got the contraband past Argus Filch, Hogwarts' crotchety caretaker, who had been extra thorough in checking each student before allowing them entrance to the school. Hermione wanted to say something but resisted, opting to mind her own business.

Each group of students were about to separate in the corridor when a blur of black swept past Hermione's eyes. Forcing herself to keep a straight face when she realized that it was Snape who had just brushed past her, Hermione had to grind her molars together to keep her jaw from flopping down when still, the professor never once looked her way. Trying to ignore the swooping sensation in her stomach, Hermione turned away from the sight of his black billowing-cloaked form that was dwindling as he moved further away, his students following in behind.

_Well, you wanted to know how the professor would act towards you? I guess you've got your answer, _Hermione thought dejectedly as she continued to lead her own group on their way.

_If only I were a snail, then I could curl up and hide inside my shell,_ Hermione thought to herself, irritated by the noisy tittering in the girls' dormitory. Her feathers were ruffled worse than a chicken that had a tank of water dumped on its head, and the last thing she wanted at the moment was to be around a bunch of her giggling classmates.

For a brief moment in time, she thought that she would have been able to handle the sight of Snape, soon finding out that she was wrong. While she managed to keep a straight face, merely for the sake of everyone else around her, on the inside she felt...well, she wasn't surely exactly what she was feeling, but Hermione knew that it stung when she saw Snape look right through her. Even the ghosts floating around the school were able to garner more attention, and they were see-through.

The ruckus finally died down, the sounds of hushed yawns, curtains being drawn, and rustling bedding taking its place. Sleep didn't come easy for Hermione that night. Over and over, as she lie in her four-poster bed with the curtains drawn, she replayed the image of Severus walking away from her in her head, until she was sure that the way the back of his cloak perfectly caught the air and floated up was permanently etched into her brain.

Hermione hadn't expected for a public acknowledgement or the like. But the professor hadn't even _looked_ at her, much less in her direction. It was as if she hadn't been standing there. The reasonable part of Hermione knew that Severus was limited in the manner in which the two could speak, only a teacher-student relationship being suitable for the public eye. Still, she wondered if the professor had seen her, and if so, if he wished that he had been able to talk to her.

* * *

Severus had, in fact, noticed Hermione, although he didn't let her know. It was rather difficult to not notice the person that he'd intimately spent the past two months with, even if no one else was privy to their entanglement. But the truth of the matter was that he was distracted- more distracted than he cared to be given his already teeming well of drama that never seemed to diminish.

Ever since the morning at Grimmauld Place when he had to abruptly leave, things had gone downhill. First, he had to rush to Hogwarts, where he found an unconscious Dumbledore with a hand that looked as if it had been badly burned. It had taken Snape hours to brew a potion that would help the headmaster, who had knowingly and foolishly put on a cursed ring, nearly killing himself in the process.

The next day, he had to return to his childhood home in Spinner's End, a place that he was always loathe to visit. Snape would never feel settled in that house; it held too many bad memories. He hadn't been able to dwell on things for long, as Narcissa Malfoy and her sister, Bellatrix Lestrange, showed up at his doorstep. Snape knew why Narcissa was coming to see him, but wished that she had left her sister behind, whom he never liked, even when they were younger.

Watching Bellatrix snarl and stalk about his sitting room with her ratty hair flying in her wake had been amusing for the first five minutes of their visit, but soon Snape had wanted to jinx her feet into place. The ill-bred witch should have taken a feather from her sister's cap and took a seat when offered. Instead, she had taken to pacing around, picking up items at random and moving them to a different place on his mantle.

His annoyance had quickly turned to quiet irritation when Narcissa began wailing into her glass of wine. Bellatrix only made things worse by yelling at her sister. Snape had been two seconds from telling the aggressive witch to shut her mouth. It wouldn't have made a difference, though, as Bellatrix had hexed her own niece, Nymphadora Tonks, and then cheerfully disposed of her cousin, Sirius Black, during the battle at the Ministry. She made it known that she would have gladly offered her own sons to the Dark Lord for service, so it was no surprise to hear that she had no sympathy for her nephew, Draco, who was dealing with the plight of being given the task of killing Dumbledore.

The Dark Lord's assignment had sent Narcissa to depths of desperation, which in turn made her come to Snape for help. The last thing he felt like doing was giving up yet another part of himself to help another, but Narcissa had been desperate to help her only child, and Lucius was the closest thing he had to a friend, a term Snape used loosely.

It had taken every bit of him to appear as if he wasn't averse to making the Unbreakable Vow, because he knew if Bellatrix picked up on the slightest bit of reluctance, that she would use it against him. Snape didn't trust Bellatrix one bit, and knew that she returned the sentiment, although personally, it made no difference to him. He was actually amused by the way Bellatrix would snarl whenever she as in his presence. She reminded him of a mean puppy that snapped and snarled at everyone that came by, forgetting it's diminutive size. He would have loved to give Bellatrix a good kick, but she was insane. And if it was one thing that Snape knew, it was to keep all limbs away from insane, blood-thirsty witches.

Once the two finally left his house-Bellaxtrix pausing to throw Snape one last sneer-he swiftly shut the door behind them and retreated to his book-infested sitting room. He should have felt relief at being alone once again, but Snape knew that relief was as rare as a Unicorn.

The mere thought of returning to Hogwarts and dealing with the inevitable, gave him a migraine.

Between dealing with the vow he made to Dumbledore and shortly afterwards, to Narcissa, the last thing Snape felt like doing was corralling around a hormonal bunch of hellions at school. He hadn't meant to outright ignore Hermione, just like he hadn't intended to disappear without a word when they last shared her bed at Grimmauld Place. Truthfully, he hadn't known what he would say to Hermione once he saw her at school, but then he became so tied up with everyone else pulling him in different directions for one thing or another that thoughts of the young witch had momentarily pushed from his brain.

Snape could feel those soft brown eyes burning into the back of his head as he walked past her in the hallway, and immediately he thought of the way Hermione had unflinchingly stared into his face when she was draped across his lap, her shoulders and breasts barely concealed by her cascading mop of unruly curls.

No one had noticed the way the professor hesitated at the sight of Hermione, not even the young Gryffindor herself. Snape had immediately caught himself and kept his face impassive, soon turning it to his usual indifferent sneer as he herded his Slytherins in the opposite direction. At the same time, he'd made sure to keep an eye on Draco, who was refusing to so much as look at or speak to anyone.

Snape knew that the young man held a grudge against him, believing that he had his out for his father, which couldn't have been further from the truth. Right as everyone began walking out of the Great Hall, Draco paused once to turn up his face at his Head of House as he swept past, and the professor itched to do away with the blond's insolent little smirk.

It was going to be a very, very long school year.


	14. Chapter 14

_**A/N: Look who's fancy and finally updated at a somewhat reasonable hour instead of WTF O'Clock like usual! Hur hur hur. How was everyone's Thanksgiving? I am sad to say that there was a severe lack of chocolate for mine, and I mean to say, that I only had three slices of chocolate cake but not all at once. **_

_**I guess I have to put some more stuff in here instead of the naughty naughty, yeah? But we'll get to that, honest! Trust me, if you've come this far you know I have a sordid mind and that naughty plot bunnies can only be kept at bay for so long. And I love you all, you are amazing, I'm still harassing and getting inappropriate with you via pm, because I LOVE YOU! I love hearing your thoughts, I love the e-paddlings, e-spankings, and everything :D Helloooo to the new people that found their way to my little corner *offers you chair, cake, and tea*. By all means, don't be shy, drop a line, I love that sort of thing. I don't bite...hard. **_

* * *

By the end of the following week, Hermione was at a loss as to what she should do to keep from losing her mind. During their free time, if Ginny wasn't off with her friends, then she was attached to Harry's side. Lavender Brown, a giggly curly-haired blonde that was also in their House, literally and figuratively, sank what looked like a lurid shade of bright pink varnished nails into Ron's arm, and refused to let up.

Hermione laughed when she thought back to the way Lavender had smarmily eyed her one afternoon as they were on the way to class. Immediately knowing what the problem was, Hermione assured the blonde that she didn't fancy her boyfriend, and that she could keep her nasty looks to herself. After that, Lavender had been very amenable and always made sure to speak to Hermione when she saw her, although her best friend, Parvati Patil, still turned up her nose.

Hermione was happy for both her best friends; she just wished that she could stop walking in on either heavily-snogging couple. The first time it happened had been funny, at least; Hermione had just walked into the Gryffindor Common Room, where Ron and Lavender were tucked away into a corner that was somewhat hidden from everyone. She had been unable to see anything, and little muffled sounds made Hermione walk closer to investigate, upon which she had turned bright red at the sight of Lavender practically devouring Ron's face. Mortified beyond belief, Hermione had ducked down and hastily retreated, walking backwards and knocking right into Ginny.

Ginny's face was turned up into a smirk when she noticed the kissing couple and then Hermione's flaming cheeks. She had ducked back out of sight and made silent retching noises into her hand before turning to run up the steps to their dormitory, leaving Hermione snorting with laughter in the Common Room.

Two years prior, Fred and George had alluded to the fact that Ron was sweet on Hermione. Ron and Hermione were only fourteen at the time, and with a typical adolescent indignation, Ron told his brother that he did not like Hermione _that way,_ and to shut their mouths. His face had nearly matched his hair but he immediately clammed up when his brothers kept ragging on him.

It was that summer when Ron tried to hold Hermione's hand. The why of it was forgotten, but Hermione distinctly remembered cringing and trying to pull away without causing a scene. Right then and there, she realized that she only had friendly feelings for Ron, and soon after, it came out that the sentiment was mutual.

They never talked about that awkward incident, and from that day on, their relationship was of a more platonic variety. Ron and Harry might both say that it was more of a 'mother hen and her two chicks', as Hermione was always nagging and bossing them around for one thing or another.

She didn't care; it was for their own good. Sometimes Hermione truly wondered about her best friends, as she was sure if their heads weren't attached to their bodies, that they would leave them back on a Quidditch pitch or elsewhere.

In any event, Hermione didn't know what she would have done with a boy her age. Not at that point, and especially not after being intimately acquainted with a highly complicated man that was nearly twenty years her senior. Hermione didn't see Snape as the sort of man to hide in a corner and kiss and grope her like some hormonally-ridden sixteen-year-old boy. Nor could she see herself in the same situation. She would have died of embarrassment had someone walked in on her in the midst of a heavy snogging session.

Another thing Hermione found was that teenage boys were often too free with their hands. She'd allowed Viktor Krum to kiss her, and ended up having to yank his hand down when it delved too close to the neckline of her dress. Snape, on the other hand... she practically had to throw herself against him and force his hand upon her body.

It had been somewhat of a shock for Hermione to realise that she couldn't see herself getting tangled with another wizard at that point. Which is why when Ron wolfishly pointed out that Cormac McLaggen, a burly young man also in Gryffindor who was a year older than them, had his eye on Hermione, she couldn't help but shriek in distaste.

Hermione had been unable to ignore the way McLaggen's eyes roved over her as they passed each other in the Common Room, as if he were trying to undress her. He _was_ handsome, but early on, she learned that looks weren't everything.

Gilderoy Lockhart was prime example of that. He'd been exceedingly good looking, and it turned out that his head was filled with nothing but self-imposed lies and delusions of grandeur. The man told so many tales, it was as if he had really believed them all. Hermione felt like a heel whenever she remembered the way she fawned over Lockhart, believing the lies that dripped like honey from his lips. She now knew that people who often bragged and boasted to the point of annoyance to others, actually didn't know anything.

Silence truly was golden, and still waters really did run deep.

Not once had Snape ever bragged or boasted about his abilities to do anything. He remained silent the entire time, right up until the duel between him and Lockhart. The glint in his black eyes should have warned the cheerily-grinning wizard, but hadn't. It wasn't until Lockhart found himself flat on his back, with a smirking Snape standing a few feet away, that his wide grin finally faltered.

Also, strictly going by appearances, it was safe to say that Severus Snape wasn't a pretty wizard.

He was rail thin, and whenever Hermione lie against him, she could feel his ribs and hip bones protruding through his pale skin and pressing into her softer body. His nose was hooked and his hair always lank and hanging around his gaunt face in dark curtains, but he was clean. Snape wasn't the 'greasy git' that everyone thought him to be. Unlike Lockhart, he wasn't groomed within an inch of his life, who made it no secret that he had his own nighttime primping regimen. Hermione nearly screamed with laughter at the thought of the choleric wizard going down to Diagon Alley, black robes billowing behind him as he sauntered up to Madam Primpernelle's shop to purchase eye cream.

Hermione giving up her status as a witch and handing her wand over to the Ministry would sooner happen.

And anyway, if Snape were to use some potion, surely he would make it himself, as he seemed to be the sort of wizard that would never buy something from over the counter. Still, she cherished the outlandish image of the snarling Potions master pointing one long finger to a shelf, asking the always gussied up shop owner, a svelte brunette witch that had a penchant for silken robes in bright colours, for wart remover or something equally ludicrous.

Thinking back to Cormac McLaggen, whose skin was equally smooth as Lockhart's, Hermione wondered if he had his own regimen as well. An extensive hair regimen was quite possible, as his fair curls were smoother than her own.

She knew that he came from what others would consider a successful family. Unfortunately, if anyone had doubts as to his background, McLaggen made every attempt to boast about himself and who he knew, or who his father knew, or who his uncle knew. While some of her classmates went for that sort of thing, it only made Hermione want to cast a '_Langlock'_ in his direction.

Why he wanted to go around with her? She had no idea, especially when she took into consideration the amount of girls in his own year that gushed incessantly over him. The witches mostly consisted of tall, glamourous creatures that seemed to find time in the morning to make their faces-subtly enough, that their Head of House wouldn't notice- and perfectly coif their hair.

Hermione was taking more than the usual amount of classes that year, and couldn't be bothered to do more than put her hair in a messy plait or bun in the mornings. The only thing that went on her face was moisturiser and a mint-flavoured, colourless lip balm, both of which protected her sensitive skin from the frigid Scotland air.

Now that she was thinking about it, Hermione didn't even know why Ron mentioned the fact that she was under McLaggen's radar. Ever since Quidditch trials, both boys had been at odds with one another, purely because McLaggen was an entitled brat that thought he knew everything. He even annoyed Harry, who was usually mild-mannered, to the point that he snapped at the older boy and told him to get out of his face.

Harry knew about the Confundus Charm that Hermione used during Quidditch trials, yet he never told on her. Ron didn't know, and they'd left it alone. Hermione hadn't meant to break the rules, and it killed her to use magic, but she hadn't been able to stand another minute of Mr I'm-Better-Than-All-You-Peasants and his constant berating of her best friend, and it had only taken her a second of deliberation before deciding to cast the charm. Harry never came outright and said that he knew what she did, yet the look on his face had been confirmation enough.

At least they didn't share classes with McLaggen. Hermione didn't think she could endure the feel of his eyes trying to unfasten the clasp on her robes while she was in the midst of following the lecture.

Classes, namely, Defence Against the Dark Arts, was another issue.

The first class started off as usual, according to Snape's habits. The classroom door had been slammed shut, the windows closed and curtains drawn, bathing them all in darkness. Never once did his eyes drift towards the desk that Hermione shared with Harry, which was surprising, as he usually always reserved one of his nastier glares for her messy-haired best friend.

In a hushed tone that counteracted with the sinister things that came from his mouth, Snape proceeded to go on about all of the horrible sounding curses that had been uses to torture witches and wizards alike into submission. To further emphasize his point, he had then shown slides of pictures of people being held captive by each curse. The class was completely silent, most likely scared stiff by the fact that they could possibly come face to face with Dark magic being used against them.

Or perhaps it was the way that Snape stalked up and down the aisle, his silky voice low enough to cause ripples of fear in each student. Hermione had even become so nerved that she had been unable to raise her hand.

Whatever it was that rattled the students, Snape's point had clearly been made, and when the lesson was finally over, everyone quickly scrambled to gather their belongings and bolt out of the room. There had been not a single complaint about the lengthy homework assignment given, eager everyone was to get out into the brightly lit corridors of Hogwarts.

Ron and Harry were the first to run out of the classroom. Even Draco looked happy for the lesson to be over with, and had followed in behind the two Gryffindors he hated most, forgetting to treat them to his usual brand of derision.

Hermione had purposely dawdled over packing her rucksack, hoping that she could catch a glimpse of the professor before going on to her next class. Uneven beams of light had filtered into the classroom, and it was just enough for her to make out his black-robed form, still standing behind his desk.

"I'm waiting for another class, Miss Granger," he began without looking up.

Ever since the last student had filed out of the room, Snape had been looking down at something on his desk, and never once had his eyes come in her direction. Hermione was shocked that he knew she was standing there, and fervently wished that he would at least look at her.

"Well? Either tell me what you want, or get out."

Hermione stood quiet for a moment, staring at the top of Snape's bowed head. His black hair hung more limply than ever, and was still parted in those same lacklustre curtains. He spoke to her in the exact tone used to deliver the lecture on Killing Curses, and it was informal and dry as a handshake and succinct greeting from a politician.

"Nothing...sir," she stammered once she finally found her voice.

Snape gave a curt nod, still refusing to look up, and Hermione took that as her cue to pick up her last book and leave the classroom.

Her mouth had gone dry, and she felt numb all over. She knew that he still had to maintain every sense of propriety, even in the classroom, but figured that Snape could at least _look _at her. What did he expect, that his eyes would fall upon her and make her immediately jump his bones? Because it wasn't as if he would jump hers; the closest they'd gotten to that point was the first night when Snape pushed her down on her bed and shoved his fingers into the most sensitive place on her body.

Hermione hadn't expected those advances, nor had she regretted them.

Embarrassed by the tears that sprang to her eyes, she hurriedly rushed out of the classroom to hide her face from the professor. The last thing she wanted to do was lose her composure in front of him. It took more than a few minutes of mental coaching for Hermione to convince herself to not cry in the middle of the corridor. Wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her school robes and resolving to finish her cry once she had some privacy, she went on to her next class.

When Hermione Granger walked into his first Defence class of the term, Snape immediately remembered that it was only a fortnight since he had the young witch beneath him, her strained-sounding moans at his ear as he plunged over and over into her trembling, sweat-covered body.

Being a master of disguise that he was, his thoughts hadn't been given away by a change in facial expression. It hadn't matter, however, as his next source of distress in form of a pale-blond wizard came shuffling into his classroom.

Draco hadn't given Snape any more smug looks; he calmly took his seat, morosely staring down at his closed notebook, quietly waiting for the lesson to begin.

Snape began the lesson, pulling out all the stops. In no way did he glaze over the details about each Dark curse that he went over in class, because to do so would have been idiotic, especially since he knew that a few of his students had already encountered Dark magic. To not give them the complete truth would have been to serve them all a great disservice.

And besides, he enjoyed the way his class squirmed uncomfortably as he described in great detail what would happen had they been under the influence of each curse. He didn't want them to be comfortable with his lesson. They surely wouldn't have been comfortable had they fallen into the clutches of a Death Eater. In fact, what Snape was teaching them had been tame.

He was surprised when the resident know-it-all never once thrust her hand into the air to ask about said curses. Of course, Snape knew about the D.A. meetings that Potter and his friends held the year before, and no doubt many of them had been apprised of a few curses. Still, it was strange to not have the bushy-haired witch interrupting him every five minutes to fire away, then going on to hastily scribble everything down onto a piece of parchment that was already overcrowded with her writing, to ensure that she missed nothing.

Snape had managed to keep his wits about him for the entire class, and was relieved once the lesson ended. Of course, in her own subtle-yet-not-so-subtle way, Hermione had lingered behind, under the pretence of packing her overstuffed school bag. Eager for the girl to take her leave, the professor had stared down at an unrolled parchment on his desk, which had been nothing more than a few notes for his next class, all of which had been already committed to memory.

While Snape managed to keep the less than appropriate thoughts concerning the off-limits witch out of his head, it still hadn't meant that the temptation was gone. He was irritated to find that she stayed behind after class, and vowed to not look at her, lest he be tempted to charm the classroom door shut, drag her over to his desk, and have her right there. Treating Hermione with abrasive indifference had been easier, although it had been hard to ignore the way her voice cracked with apprehension when she spoke to him.

Snape could have sworn that he heard Hermione sniffling just outside of his classroom door once she fled, yet stay put at his desk, still unfocusedly staring down at his lecture notes scribbled in his signature slanted handwriting.

There was no doubt about it: he had to get Hermione Granger out of his head. Everything that transpired between them at Grimmauld Place needed to be put in an ironclad box and locked, key thrown away, and the box tossed out to sea. Because there was no way in the seven circle of Hades that he would make it through the school year without being tempted to shove those ugly school robes above her thighs and have his sordid way with the too young witch.

* * *

Keeping her promise to herself, Hermione refused to cry for the rest of the day. Even when she went to bed that night, she refused to let herself get upset, yet still drifted off into an uneasy sleep. When Monday rolled around, she didn't feel like attending her early morning Potions class with the sycophantic Slughorn, as the classroom alone with its glass bottle-lined shelves reminded her of Severus.

Fortunately, Slughorn had a different approach when it came to his classroom, as nearly every curtain had been drawn, every window opened, and the atmosphere was bracing in the brightly lit classroom.

That made things a bit easier on Hermione, even if she was still distracted. Slughorn had assigned his class the task of making Elixir to Induce Euphoria. Hermione wasn't in a euphoric mood in the least bit, and had to stop herself from sneering when Harry's potion turned the perfect shade of yellow, earning him an obscene amount of praise from their rotund Potions professor.

Hermione couldn't lie to herself-she was aggravated. Aggravated because Harry, all of a sudden, was upstaging her in Potions, and two, because she knew that he was using a questionable Potions text with old scribbles that he'd found in the classroom cupboard.

She had been working on her potion for an hour, only gaining a splitting headache when the mixture wouldn't solidify or change colour as needed. The noxious fumes wafting upwards had stung her nostrils and she was positive that the fine hairs inside had been burnt off. To top it off, copious amounts of steam from her cauldron had transformed her hair into a tangled, stinking cloud of fuzz.

Damn right, she was mad at Harry.

Ron didn't seem to care that Harry had managed to finish his potion with perfect results; he was too busy frowning and trying to figure out where he had gone wrong to notice much of anything else.

When class was over, Hermione couldn't help it when she threw Harry a scathing glance, attempting to smooth back her frizzy hair before gathering up her books and stomping out of the classroom. She knew that he only turned in stellar work because of his defaced book, but was too much of a friend to tell on him. Harry quickly tried to wipe the smug look off his face, and Ron, as usual, stood by looking befuddled. Lucky for them, Hermione didn't hear the chuckling under their breath as she stomped away.

Anyway, she had troubles of her own to worry about.

At lunchtime, she had been too wound up to eat more than an apple, and merely nibbled a few shallow dents into the soft, sweet flesh. Defence was their last class, and Hermione's stomach rolled with trepidation at the idea of seeing Professor Snape again.

She saw him every night in the Great Hall at dinner, yet he still refused to acknowledge her presence. Hermione knew it would have been hard to do so, especially with him sitting on the staff dais and surrounded by colleagues, but even during class, he still hadn't looked her way. He kept looking at Draco, though, she curiously noticed.

At first, she chalked it up to Slytherin favouritism, until she realised that the rest of his snakes hadn't received the same shrewd yet subtle attention. Fact remained-Draco didn't look well at all. He barely spoke in class, not even to make one of his customary sarcastic remarks.

The only thing that managed to garner attention from the professor was Hermione staring across at Draco. She hadn't meant to be obvious, yet Snape barked at her to pay attention, and Hermione nearly jumped out of her seat in fright. Draco hadn't noticed a thing, and went right on with staring a hole into the wall that was on his left.

_Of course. He only notices me to chastise me,_ Hermione told herself, resuming the process of taking notes on Snape's lecture.

Had he still taught Potions, Hermione wondered if there was some way to force the professor to speak to her. She reasoned that if she had blown up a cauldron, or whispered to Neville in aims of helping him, if he would give her detention. She quickly shot down that idea, telling herself that the only thing he would do was take a ridiculous amount of points from Gryffindor before resuming the lesson. And had he given her detention, Snape would have probably fixed it so she would serve it with Filch or Hagrid.

Again, Hermione surreptitiously tried to gain the professor's attention. Once again, he ignored her, this time refusing to speak, even though she stood a few feet away from him, her brown eyes burning a hole into the side of his face. When it was apparent that Snape didn't have anything to say to her, Hermione numbly walked out of the classroom, hugging her rucksack to her chest.

* * *

Later that evening, Hermione was unable to bear the sight of the black teaching-robed professor, who appeared to be calmly putting away his dinner in the Great Hall. Ignoring the curious look from her best friends as she rushed to finish her own meal, Hermione offhandedly gave the excuse that she wanted to study in the dormitory before things got too noisy. The boys readily accepted her excuse, knowing their friend's penchant for studiousness, and continued stuffing their faces without any more questions.

Making sure to keep her eyes averted from the staff dais, Hermione hurriedly rushed out of the Great Hall, nearly tripping on her robes during her canter up the middle aisle. She never noticed a pair of black eyes that had immediately honed in yet lingered briefly on her retreating form.

Hermione had been fibbing when she told Ron and Harry that she wanted to study. Of course, she would go over her books before turning in to bed, but right at that moment, she knew that giving undivided attention to studying would prove fruitless. Instead, Hermione took it upon herself to patrol the corridors. It wasn't as if she expected to find anyone up to anything; most of the students were still at dinner, and the corridors were empty save for a few ghosts gliding overhead. The only noise present was a few muttering portraits as she made her way past the frames, only one of them stopping to politely greet her.

Sir Cadogan, the clumsy knight who usually remained in his frame in the upper and more remote corridors of the castle, made his way down to the main floor, and had been in the middle of looking around a cluster of shrubbery for his sword when he noticed Hermione. The knight jauntily announced that Hermione looked sad, and offered her his handkerchief as well as a sympathetic ear to listen to her plight. She couldn't help but to chuckle when he referred to her as a 'damsel in distress with the most liberated head of curls he had ever set eyes upon' before gallantly asking if she needed him to 'slice the mangy cur from nape to chops' that had her looking so forlorn.

Hermione thanked Sir Cadogan for the offer, but told him that she was fine. Besides, the thought of the painted knight ruffling so much as one inky strand on top of Severus Snape's head was laughable at best; the professor would summon a bottle of turpentine before Sir Cadogan could so much as lower the visor on his helmet.

She knew that she was being absurd for pouting like a child that couldn't have their way, yet Hermione couldn't help stop feeling the way she did. As many times as she told herself that she needed to stay away from Severus, that it was indecent the way she continued lusting after him, each thought was for naught, and failed to make her think otherwise.

What was she expecting to happen? Hermione had no idea. She couldn't even remember what initially drew her to the enigmatic, reserved wizard. It was true, the man was erudite as could be, many times making Hermione feel ignorant, which was a hard feat as she was usually a few steps ahead of everyone else.

Whatever it was, there was no doubt about it; Hermione was fascinated by Severus Snape. Time and time again, he had warned her to stay away, vehemently stating that he was definitely not the sort of person she wanted to get tangled with. Yet, Hermione had never been one to turn away from something just because she had been told to do so. And it wasn't as if she looked upon consorting with Snape to be some personal challenge to see if she could break that impenetrable shell of his; she didn't enjoy driving herself crazy for the heck of it, as she had soon learned that dealing with his mercurial moods did just that.

No pun intended, Hermione was spellbound. And the fact that Severus continued to push her away only made her want to push back harder. It didn't matter that her brain kept screaming at her to tread a level course, to leave all thoughts of her, and the wizard, and Grimmauld Place in the past. But Hermione knew that she had to keep a calm head, lest everything go pear-shaped. She and her friends, as well as countless others, had enough to contend with as it was. The last thing they needed was for some sort of scandal to break out, taking into account those that were working for the Order, as well as the one member who was also secretly working for the other side.

All practical thoughts aside, it was the more carnal ones that were driving her crazy. Difficult was an understated word for Hermione to use to describe the way it felt for her to try and forget about the way Severus made her body explode with absurd ease. She wasn't hard up enough to masturbate at night, even though no one would be any wiser since she slept with the curtains fully drawn around her bed. Still, it was hard to ignore the fact that she was surrounded by house mates, at least one of their beds only a foot away from hers.

Hermione had been walking blinding and turned a corner, each torch lighting up with her progress, when she thought about the very first time she had Severus' face buried between her legs, and it was enough to make her knees buckle. Reaching out to steady herself against the wall, Hermione drew in a deep breath and tried to contain herself.

There was no way she was going to make it to the end of the month without some sort of reprieve. The memory alone of Severus' tongue made her core throb and ache, and the sensation was borderline painful. True, Severus was still her professor, but Hermione thought she had made it abundantly clear that she wouldn't give up their secret. There wasn't a single circumstance she could think of that would make her do so.

The professor's unapproachable actions were obviously meant to keep Hermione at bay, and even though he hadn't actually told her to do so, it was a loophole she found most fortuitous.

Deeming her forays of traipsing about Hogwarts having gone on for long enough, Hermione turned and began to walk in the direction of the Gryffindor dormitory. Distractedly shuffling along, she didn't realize that someone else was a two feet away from her until a blur of something caught the corner of her eye.

Her head whipped up, and Hermione found herself staring into the face of none other than the very person who had been ignoring her since the first day of school. Brown eyes drilled like augers into black ones, although the latter pair never moved lower than her stunned face.

"Professor..." Hermione greeted feebly, having difficulty finding her voice. She did, however, walk up on the professor until she was literally under his nose. Snape frowned down at her, looking slightly put out. Had it not been for the snugly tied cravat around his neck, she might have noticed the way he swallowed hard when she stepped into his personal space. While she also missed his fingers curling into his palms, as Snape was doing his best to restrain himself from reaching out and touching the witch, Hermione did notice the way his jaw clenched, ever so slightly.

Her feet didn't want to move, and she stood in place, staring at the black-robed wizard as if seeing him for the first time. Hermione's skin prickled from head to toe beneath the heavy wool of her bulky school robes, and despite the cool air of the drafty corridor swirling around her ankles, suddenly she felt overheated.

"Miss Granger," Snape coolly replied, immediately averting his eyes over the top of her curly head.

While it seemed like a long time had passed that the two were standing only a few inches apart, in reality, only less than a minute had passed since Severus halted at first sight of the witch. An air of eagerness to get away from her suddenly took hold. His desperation was sequestered, however, and went completely unnoticed by Hermione as he sidestepped smoothly to continue past her, the hem of his trailing teaching robes catching the edge of her school robes.

That had been the last straw for Hermione. Her face had been close enough to Snape's for her to catch a whiff of the raspberry torte he'd eaten for dessert at dinner, hell, her nose had practically touched the long row of buttons on his frock coat, and still she was treated with a casual indifference. Not once did Snape look back as he retreated, and the sight of his black teaching robes billowing behind him as he rounded the corner and disappeared was enough to leave Hermione floored.

Eyes watering in a mixture of hurt and anger, she also felt numb with disbelief. Unable to do more than slump against the flagstone wall, heedless of the rough, uneven material digging into her back, Hermione allowed tears that were coming faster than she manage fall down her cheeks.

The sound of approaching footsteps from around the corner was the only thing to make her push herself off the wall. Stalking away without bothering to wipe away the telltale moisture on her face, Hermione strove to put as much distance between her and the space in front of her the professor had briefly occupied.

* * *

Ginny had been one of the first ones to come up to the dormitory, and saw Hermione already in her nightgown and about to crawl into bed.

"Alright?" she called from across the room. "Harry said you'd left dinner early."

"Yes; I wanted to go over some assignments while it was still quiet," Hermione fibbed, arranging the pillows and flopping down onto one.

Her excuse seemed to pacify the redhead, because Ginny readily accepted it and bid her friend goodnight. Hermione then drew the curtains around her bed, shutting her eyes and trying to get rid of the image of Severus from behind her eyelids.

Inwardly she cursed her traitorous body for becoming worked up in more ways than one at mere sight of the professor. Flashbacks of their naked skin touching and rubbing against each other with wild abandon couldn't have come at a worse time. Softly crying out into her pillow, which had thankfully been muffled by the thick material, Hermione shuddered beneath the duvet.

Rare was the occasion that she had an unkind word where it concerned the Potions master, but right at that moment, she definitely had a dictionary and thesaurus' worth of choice words.

* * *

Typically, Severus would have given a detention and taken points for any student wandering the corridors of Hogwarts. Prefect or Head Boy or Girl mattered not to him, nor did the reason. Simply put, sometimes the presence of a loitering student had been enough to irritate him, and that irritation took the form of punishment.

However, unexpectedly running into a certain Prefect from Gryffindor had been cause for a completely different type of aggravation.

Snape had been doing his best to give wide berth when it came to the young witch. Usually he would have known if Hermione was lurking nearby, as he was well acquainted with the sound of her soft, evenly spaced footsteps. However, that evening, the two happened upon one another so fast that he didn't have the chance to backtrack and go in the opposite direction.

Hermione had stood close enough that he'd been nearly able to feel her breasts through the thick material of her school robes. The top of her head rested inches away from his shoulder, and he'd wanted to grab a handful of bushy curls, tilt Hermione's head back until that tempting column of her neck was exposed, and run his tongue over the spot that, in the darkness of his bedroom at Grimmauld Place, he learned made her tremble.

Instead, he did just the opposite, clenching his hands into tight fists and leaving them buried beneath the folds of his robes. He was sure that Hermione hadn't realized the way she moved to lean into him, and instead of Snape moving into her touch the way he wanted, he stepped back and left her standing there in the empty, dimly lit corridor.

Snape's hard bottomed dragon hide boots ate up the length of the castle's stone floor as he made his way down to his private quarters. The wizard was in such a snit that he didn't utter a word to Peeves the Poltergeist, who had been lingering in another corridor and drawing what looked like a rude picture on a wall in bright green chalk.

Without uttering a word, Snape whipped out his wand and fired a hex at the wayward ghost. The blast of magic went right through his transparent body, yet was enough for Peeves to drop his chalk and cheerfully whoop at the sight of the crabby professor. Peeves gave one last joyful hoot before doing a loop-de-loop midair and disappearing through the ceiling.

It took all of a few minutes for Snape to make it to his rooms, where he lowered the wards with a flick of his hand and stalked inside. Divesting himself of his teaching robes, cravat, and frock coat, all items were abandoned to a nearby chair before he took the leather wingback near the hearth. Grinding the heel of both palms into his burning eyes, Snape exhaled deeply.

He had a headache, and it wasn't the sort that could be remedied by potion or pill. It was the kind of ache that stemmed from burning the candle at both ends, all of which led to unavoidable stress. Of course, he strove to maintain a facade of normalcy, keeping up the pretence more for everyone else's benefit than his own.

Yet between dashing back and forth with Dumbledore and Voldemort, Light and Dark, as well as following behind Draco to make sure that the young man wasn't doing anything foolish, not to mention his workload for every class, Snape was beyond the point of bone-weary. Despite being only thirty-six, he felt much older, and sometimes mused that it was a wonder he hadn't yet gone grey as the headmaster.

_Everyone believes you to be black-hearted; it's only suitable that your hair matches as well, _he thought wryly, running one hand through the slick, black strands.

Since the school term began, only once had Snape returned slightly battered to Hogwarts from a meeting with the Dark Lord. That evening had made him appreciate each time that Hermione helped him at Grimmauld Place. While he had been able to get around on his own, and still loathed the idea of someone helping him, especially a person he considered a child, Hermione's soft hands had been a balm to his aching body, and surprisingly, he'd been able to sleep with her nearby.

His blood had started racing when he came across Hermione in the corridors. It had been glaringly obvious that the little witch was incensed by the way he'd been ignoring her, yet Severus wasn't about to change his premeditated course of actions.

His headache was refusing to subside, and Snape slumped back in his armchair, resting his head against the supple leather. He could have summoned a pain reliever from the small stock of potions he kept on hand, but even the thought of lifting his hand to do so made him exhausted.

Therefore, it was two hours later that Snape found himself still before the hearth, tilted sideways in his armchair. He had worn himself out thinking about Dumbledore, Draco, the Unbreakable Vow, the meetings with the Dark Lord, as well as his miserable life in general. When he finally dragged himself to bed, the only thing that made his turbulent thoughts somewhat subside was the memory of annoying, yet nevertheless welcomed, unruly brown curls tickling the side of his face as he slept.

* * *

**_I knowwww, don't spank me too hard, please. Well, I might like it, but I promise...good things come to those who waits ;) _**

**_xx_**


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N: So I'm sure you've figured it, but I have to get some other stuff out of the way. And besides, isn't sexual tension fun?! *cackles and ducks things being thrown* Come on, you know me, I will go all out of the way to make up for it, PROMISE. Trust me? You know I have a filthy mind, I can't keep being clean for too long ;) So with that being said, I absolutely adore you all and I love you and thank you for the reviews and alerts! I know it's finals time for a lot, and I will ply you with cake and coffee to fuel those long hours of studying, and when you're done, I have a nice adult, err, happy drink for you to unwind with, if you catch my drift. ;)**_

* * *

A month had gone by since school was in session, and still, things remained the same between Hermione and the newly appointed Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

During one particularly interesting class, Hermione had grown almost excited by the prospect of serving detention with Snape, a notion that truly made her question her sanity.

It seemed as if half the class had been either daydreaming or kipping over their open textbooks, as no one raised a hand to answer the professor when he began asking questions. Like always, Hermione had been unable to control her tongue, especially since she knew the answer to every question.

It was no rare thing for Snape to ignore her whenever her hand shot up, so the class hadn't paid any mind when Hermione's arm waved about in the air, only for it to remain there for several minutes. The answer to Snape's question had been right on the tip of her tongue, each word practically burning into the back of her tightly clamped lips. Wanting to prove herself had nothing to do with their previous intimate moments; Hermione really did know the answer, and it was killing her to keep quiet.

Finally, she blurted out her response, practically shouting the answer, when Snape swiftly deducted five points from Gryffindor and assigned her detention for 'a severe lack of restraint', as he delicately phrased it. A few of the more aware Slytherin students in the room sniggered at what they believed to be Hermione's misfortune, while a majority of the class barely registered what had just happened. Only Ron, Harry, and Neville, shot Hermione, whose face had gone beet-red, looks that held a mixture of sympathy and shock.

It took a long time for the flush of embarrassment to fade from her cheeks. Right as she was on her way out of the classroom door, Snape told Hermione, without looking at her, that she would serve her detention the upcoming weekend. She had then attempted to wait to see if the professor had anything more to say. When he remained standing with his back to her, methodically using his wand to clear his scribbling from the chalkboard, Hermione gave up hope and finally took her leave.

That Saturday morning, she went down to Snape's classroom on pins and needles, flustered that she was going to be alone in his presence, and by the fact that she didn't know what to expect. Ergo, she was highly disappointed when she met with not Snape, but Filch and Mrs Norris, at the entrance of the classroom. The red-eyed snarling cat stalked about his owner's grimy trouser-covered ankles, hissing up at the witch.

It was all Hermione could do to not cry out in disappointment.

Filch _was _ornery, and she didn't expect for that to change. It was the idea that, once again, Hermione knew Snape was artfully dodging her presence, as he'd pushed her off to someone else to serve her detention. She fought back tears the entire time as she walked behind Filch, who hobbled his way out of the castle and into the oddly bright sunshine. The only thing that marginally cheered her up was when the caretaker led her over to Hagrid's hut, where he rapped his bony, wiry hair-covered knuckles on the faded wooden door.

Hagrid came outside, all smiles as he took in the sight of Hermione. Filch growled in his way and left the young witch on the crumbling stone doorstep, the caretaker crooning to his cat in a croaky voice as the pair walked back up to the school.

Hagrid was surprised that Hermione, of all people, had detention, until she explained that Snape was the one to assign it. Even her Head of House had gone wide-eyed with shock when she learnt about the detention, and sighed in exasperation before sending Hermione on her way. McGonagall had never even given Hermione detention. The young Gryffindor had been given detention twice throughout her entire school career, the last one with Umbridge the previous year.

All in all, her time with Hagrid wasn't bad. He merely asked Hermione to help him dig up flobberworms, which took all of forty-five minutes. Afterwards, he invited her into his hut for tea and some of his, unknown to him, notoriously horrible yet lovingly baked, goods. Fang had been perched in front of the hearth, and gave a lazy 'woof' when he saw Hermione. She sat down, and politely declined the offer of the scones, which were large as Frisbees and hard as the stones that littered the vegetable patch in his garden, yet she did accept the oversized cup of tea.

Once she was finished, Hagrid walked her back up to the castle, all the while cheerfully reminiscing over the mischievous things that she and her best friends had gotten into when they first came to Hogwarts. Hermione laughed, in spite of herself, and thanked Hagrid before he turned to go back down the hill.

"I still can't believe Miss Perfect Prefect, Hermione Granger, got detention!" Ron jeered once she had gone back to the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Oh, shut up," she grumbled. The room was empty, as their classmates were either taking advantage of the unseasonably mild weather, or off enjoying their treats that had been purchased on the weekend excursion to Hogsmeade.

Hermione hadn't been in the mood to do anything but sit down and brood. She was in the middle of using her wand to siphon the remaining bits of dirt from beneath her fingernails when Ron and Harry flopped down on the sofa next to her. Both boys had flushed faces as if they'd been running and looked positively jubilant.

"Here, Hermione," Harry said, reaching across Ron to hand her a small bag. "We bought you that, seeing as you were unable to come with."

Hermione smiled and put down her wand, taking the little brown bag that had _Honeydukes_ embossed on the front in fancy gold lettering.

"Thanks, you two," she grinned, knowing that the bag contained her favourite chocolate. The sweets couldn't have come at a better time, as her monthly was right around the corner. And while Hermione had never been big on a lot of sugary things, once a month she succumbed and satisfied her craving for cocoa.

"Harry said that if we bought you chocolate, then perhaps you wouldn't bite our heads off," Ron told her off-handedly, earning an fierce narrow-eyed scowl from the witch.

"He's lying, Hermione," Harry said hastily, reaching across her to shove Ron. "_Ron_ is the one that said—" He was cut short, noticing the expectant look on Hermione's face. "Err...think I'll shut up now."

"Good idea, mate," Ron cheekily replied. "Anyway, how was detention? What did the greasy git have you do? I still can't believe he gave you detention."

"I didn't serve detention with Professor Snape," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes at the mention of the rude nickname. "Well, rather, he had me serve it with Hagrid. I helped him dig up flobberworms and then we had tea."

"Uh oh, do you still have all your teeth?" Harry asked, remembering Hagrid's penchant for his rock-hard cakes.

Ron had once suggested that Hagrid could whip up a batch of mashed potatoes, and that somehow they would still probably turn out to have the consistency of a boulder. Harry and Hermione became hysterical at the comment, and although they knew Hagrid that meant well, it was true that his cooking and baking skills left much to be desired.

"I only had tea," Hermione giggled. "I think I've had enough incidents with my teeth to last me. And knowing Mum and Dad, they'd insist that I come home so they can fix them instead of letting Madam Pomfrey do so with her wand. No, thank you, I'd rather not miss classes."

"We know, you little swot," Ron yawned, stretching his long arms over his head before settling them along the back of the sofa. "That's what got you detention in the first place."

"Oh, leave me alone," Hermione fussed, hissing in discomfort when Ron's forearm landed right on top of her hair and pulled it at the roots. "Where's Ginny? And Lav-Lav?" she asked, pushing at his arm and extricating the tautly pulled strands from beneath it.

"I think Ginny and Luna are together," Harry answered. "Oh, and Neville. They were with us at Hogsmeade, and then we left them when we decided to come back here. No idea where Lav-Lav is, though," he continued, grinning when Ron scowled at him.

Hermione nodded in comprehension, suddenly distracted by the bag of chocolate in her lap. She tugged the gold ribbons apart and withdrew a piece, placing it in her mouth and nearly swooning when it melted on her tongue. Ron reached around her and tried to surreptitiously pluck a piece from the bag, yelping when Hermione swatted him on the hand.

"Get your own chocolate."

"Ron, you're mad," Harry told him. "Do you know that you never get between a witch and her chocolate? Not unless you want to draw back a nub."

"Oh yeah?" Ron jeered. "And since when did you become an expert on witches and their sweets?"

"Ever since I bought Ginny a bag of Honeydukes and tried to sneak a piece. Let's just say that your sister is much faster with a wand than she lets onto. Two words. Never. Again."

Hermione laughed as she stood up from the sofa, gesturing to Harry with a half moon-shaped piece of bitten chocolate before completely shoving it into her mouth. "Sage advice; everyone should listen to you. You'll go far in life, Mr Potter," she told him in a mock baritone before turning to go up to the dormitory.

* * *

The rest of her Saturday passed by uneventfully. Most of Sunday also went by in a similar fashion, only instead of using her afternoon to dig up flobberworms, Hermione, along with a few of her housemates, used the time to study. Ron had been more interested in his latest Quidditch magazine, which had been purchased the day before in Hogsmeade, and balked when Hermione suggested that he get a head start on their essay that Snape had assigned.

"But it's not due till Friday!" he protested.

"Fine, then don't do it," Hermione shot back. "But I'm telling you— if you decide to wait till the last minute, don't come running to me for help."

"Alright, I won't run; I promise to walk, very, very slowly. I'll move slow enough to make even a snail go 'bloody hell! Move it along, will you!'"

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione giggled. He really could be silly at times.

Ginny, Neville, and Harry were also nearby, and laughed when they heard Ron's promise. Hermione had frowned when she saw the defaced Potions book in Harry's lap, staring at it disapprovingly until Harry noticed her and shot back a defiant glare. Ginny had caught Hermione's narrowed eyes, and shook her head before returning to her own work.

Lavender eventually came into the Common Room with Parvati on her trail, and the blonde witch wasted no time before she tugged Ron off the sofa and out of the room, most likely in aims of finding a nice, dark corner to kiss in.

Parvati took it upon herself to drop down onto the sofa next to Hermione, looking longingly at the couple that was making their way out through the narrow portrait hole. She flipped her long hair over one shoulder, paying no attention to Harry, who was still at the other end of the sofa.

"I hate feeling like the third wheel," Parvati said mournfully, her brown eyes still focused on the spot where Ron and Lavender had just been standing. "It's so..._sad._"

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. Parvati Patil hadn't been exactly polite when it came to her, since... _ever,_ and the last thing Hermione felt like doing was playing nice. But if it meant that the witch would shut up so she could finish her homework, then so be it.

"You know, a boyfriend is not the be all and end all," Hermione told her. "There are loads of other things you can focus on."

"Oh yeah? Like what?" the dark-haired witch challenged, now dubiously looking at Hermione.

"Well..." Hermione trailed off, searchingly looking around the room for a minute. She briefly caught Harry's eye, and noticed that he was pressing himself into the sofa cushions, as if he wanted to disappear right through them."I mean, you have your schoolwork to focus on, and you have your friends. There's always _something_ for you to occupy your time with."

"Is that so? Like what, a pet?"

Just then, Crookshanks appeared out of nowhere and leapt onto the sofa and curled up next to Hermione. The ginger kneazle gave an appreciate purr when Hermione began scratching the top of his furry head.

"Yeah, I suppose," Hermione replied. "If you like cats or another sort of animal. Taking care of one will give you something to do."

Parvati sighed as she watched Hermione stroking the cat's fur. "I envy you, you know. Life is so simple, so uncomplicated for you. Well, I'm glad that you're able to not go around with a bloke, but all of us aren't like that."

Hermione's hand paused over Crookshanks as she tried to decipher just what it was that Parvati was indelicately getting at. "Pardon?"

"Well, I just mean that, well...you have your books and all. You don't care about boys and boyfriends and going to Hogsmeade on your own."

"I don't go to Hogsmeade on my own; I go with Ron and Harry, and even Luna and Ginny! Hell, even Neville comes round with us!" Hermione shot back. Neville's head popped up at the mention of his name, but when neither witch turned his way, he carried on scribbling on the parchment in front of him.

"That's not what I mean, Hermione," Parvati said, shaking her head. "I meant a _boyfriend_, a real boyfriend. Harry's got Ginny, and Lavender's got Ron. Even that Loony girl and Neville have got something going on."

Neville looked up once more, this time with a slight frown. Harry had his Potions textbook opened on his lap and was intently peering down at it, although Hermione could have sworn that she saw his bright green eyes rolling behind his glasses.

"Her name's _Luna_," Ginny said crisply from across the room. "Luna Lovegood."

"Sorry, Luna," Parvati amended in a tone that didn't sound as if she was genuinely sorry. "Anyway, you know what I mean. Like I said— I'm a third wheel, and I hate it."

The more she listened to Parvati's vacuous banter, the more Hermione swore that she could literally feel her IQ dropping. She was half tempted to offer the witch a few pieces of her chocolate, purely to keep her from talking any more.

"Right. Well, I'm sure you'll find...someone," Hermione reassured, suddenly desperate to gather her things and get away.

Crookshanks looked affronted when she abruptly moved from next to him, and he slid down off the sofa with a feline air of contempt. Harry had also looked up at Hermione, his eyes silently pleading for her to not leave him alone with the still chattering Parvati.

Hermione smirked at Harry, shooting back a look that said _ignore her. _She urged her cat to follow her up to the dormitory, ignoring the curious look Parvati was now throwing in her direction. _Patience, give me patience,_ she told herself. _I must be wearing a daft magnet today. Yes, that's it, because there is no other feasible explanation for __**that**__!_

Hermione had nearly been too nervous to come out of the dormitory when it was time for supper. Ginny had to cajole her out from behind the safety of her bed curtains, laughter colouring her voice while she assured Hermione that Parvati and Lav-Lav were nowhere around.

"Thank goodness!" Hermione exclaimed as she put on her trainers and a thick jumper. "I was hoping that Parvati would shut up, but no, she just kept right on talking. I swear, my brain went numb for a minute."

"Seamus said the same thing about her once; said that maybe if she did have someone to snog, then maybe she would do less talking. Of course, he volunteered Dean to go up to her, and Dean told him to piss off."

"Oh no," Hermione cringed. "That's funny, but still, it's sort of mean."

"Yeah, well," Ginny shrugged. "Hurry up! I'm hungry, and Ron and Harry probably already left us because you're taking too long."

"Oh, please. I could have been down there early and still Ron would have been to dinner before he dishes were even sent out."

Ginny told Hermione that she had a point, but still continue to rush her. Ron and Harry were already on their second helpings of dinner by the time the girls walked into the Great Hall and took their seats.

Hermione didn't have much of an appetite to begin with, and only put a small amount of food onto her place. She had just picked up a piece of bread and was slathering butter onto it when she looked towards the staff dais, and was mildly disappointed to find an empty space next to McGonagall where Snape usually sat.

She was surprised to feel glum by his absence, and turned her attention back to the Gryffindor table. Methodically picking her bread apart into tiny shreds, Hermione nibbled on each bit, distractedly listening to the chatter going on around her. She had just began working on her chicken leg in the same manner, tearing the flesh into evenly sized strips when she felt eyes on her. Peering across Ginny's head and down the table, Hermione saw that McClaggen was staring at her in that creepy way of his, which always made her skin crawl.

"What's the matter, Hermione?" Ron asked after swallowing a large mouthful of chicken. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"Yeah, the ghost of hot-in-the-trousers past," Hermione grumbled.

Ron had just taken another bite and stopped chewing, trying to figure out what the hell Hermione was talking about, but Harry instantly picked up on her sarcasm and guffawed when he looked down the table to find McClaggen staring back in their direction.

"Hmm, pesticide. I think that's what you need," Harry suggested, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "And to think; Parvati Patil was going on and on about you not having a boyfriend."

"Harry Potter, if you ever use the word 'boyfriend' while talking about that churlish little troll down at the other end, I'll hex your nads off."

"Now that's just not right!" Ron cringed, doubling over on the bench. "I wouldn't want to be you, mate."

Hermione smirked at both boys. She finally gave up playing with her chicken, and finished the rest of her decimated bread. She was on the verge of a premenstrual headache, and suddenly had the urge to go back to the dormitory and lie down while it was still quiet.

"I'm going back up," she said, draining the remains of pumpkin juice from her goblet and getting up from the table.

"You barely took two bites of dinner; are you finished already?" Ron frowned, looking at her abandoned mountain of shredded chicken and bread crumbs.

"Yes, Dad," she shot back. "Unless you're going to get on me for not finishing my milk or eating my peas."

"That's right: punishment! No library for a week!"

Hermione pretended to be shocked, gasping and covering her mouth with one hand. "Well! Never in my life."

Ron continued smirking, his and Hermione's conversation interrupting by a giggling Lavender, who had just walked over and sat down next to the redhead.

"Alright," Hermione told him, knowing that that was her cue to leave. "I'll see you lot back upstairs."

Ron waved to Hermione, now awkwardly trying to shove custard into his mouth with Lavender's pink-tipped fingers wrapped about his right bicep. Hermione walked around the bench to where Harry was sitting, playfully poking him in the back when she saw him bow his head to pretend to be enthralled by his own dish of custard.

The stirrings of a headache was only part of the reason Hermione wanted to get out of the Great Hall. The other was that since Snape wasn't present, she didn't have a reason to stick around. She wasn't hungry, nor in the mood to listen to everyone yammering on around her head. To boot, McClaggen made her feel dirty at the way his eyeballs remained glued to the front of her jumper, despite the fact that it was bulky and concealed most of her breasts.

Folding her arms tightly across her chest and striding down the long walkway, all the while pretending that the obvious seventh year wizard wasn't staring at her, Hermione made her way out into the quieter entrance hall.

The cacophony of students eating and talking grew into a faint buzzing the further Hermione walked away from the wide opened doors of the Great Hall. The paintings lining the walls looked as if they were all on the verge of falling asleep, and she took care to not make any noise. Hermione would have gone straight up to the dormitory, only the sight of the brilliantly lit night sky right outside of the stone arches further down the corridor made her pause.

The cool breeze was refreshing, and between that and the silence, her headache began to subside. Not in any rush, Hermione sat in between the widely spaced pillars, deciding to take in a breather before turning in for the evening.

While it was true that she loved reading and could have spent all of her time doing so, Hermione enjoyed merely sitting and doing absolutely nothing sometimes, so long as the nothing entail her sitting quietly in the outdoors. As it was, she was partially outside, as she was near the opened corridor that led directly outside to the rose garden.

The view of the moon was entrancing, and Hermione found herself perched in place for quite some time. _Should have brought my cloak,_ she thought as she began shivering, as her jumper wasn't suitable protection against the bracing air.

Hermione tucked her arms firmly around her body, refusing to move from her spot. She was so taken by the serenity of everything that she nearly missed the person that had almost completely walked past her. She would have let them continue on without calling attention to herself, only she caught sight of a billowing cloak, and threw caution to the wind before speaking.

"So is that it, then? You're going to continue on ignoring me like this?" she called down the hall.

Snape evenly exhaled. He had nearly made it all the way past Hermione, when somehow, she noticed him.

He was tired, and ready to return to his room. Snape hadn't gone to dinner, purely because he had been in the midst of trailing behind Draco all day. He had a niggling suspicion that the young Slytherin was up to something, and was doing everything in his power to keep the boy from making any serious mistakes. Of course, that led to Snape giving up the little bit of free time he'd had that evening, as well as missing dinner. The latter hadn't mattered; he had a late yet hasty lunch in his rooms, and had no appetite when dinnertime came around.

The only reason he came the way he did was because he'd heard Filch in passing, back near the Great Hall, grumbling under his breath about students roaming the castles at whim, with no one saying anything to them. Snape had been looking forward to catching someone to assign detention to, and silently cursed when he saw the familiar outline of delicate feminine features, illuminated by pale moonlight in the otherwise darkened corridor.

He knew that button nose and lips anywhere, not to mention the mass of curls that resembled an u-manicured bush. As far as Hermione's slender frame...she'd been hunched over, sitting between the pillars, looking as if she had been trying to keep warm. With or without her shapeless school robes, he was well acquainted with Hermione's slight frame, and could have been blindfolded and put in a room with her, and still would have been able to decipher her by touch alone.

_That is the last thing you need to be thinking about right now,_ he told himself.

"Miss Granger. I suppose one detention wasn't enough; might I need to give you another?"

"I don't know why you would give me one now; I haven't done anything wrong."

Hermione was frowning, although she had turned back to continue staring up at the sky. Something told her to not look directly at Severus, that if she did, he might ignore her and walk away like he had before.

"I'm well aware of your Prefect status, although, seeing as how you don't have that daft freckle-faced boy with you, it leads me to believe that you are not, in fact, in the midst of Prefect duty. So, again I ask, are you trying to land yourself with another detention for wandering the corridors on your own?"

Hermione brushed her curls out of her face, closing her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. Was this the same man that she previously shared herself with? Was this the wizard that shared a bed with her at Grimmauld Place?

_No_, she told herself, bitterly. _That man was Severus Snape; hence, the word, man. This is Professor Snape, formerly your Potions teacher and now Defence Against the Dark Arts, the very professor that's been giving you hell since you were eleven. I told you that nothing would change; are you really that surprised?_

So much for a crumbling resolve. Whatever barriers she had managed to inch her way through a mere three months ago, clearly had been set back in place, and reinforced by a steely resolve. It was as if the two had never spent time with one another, as if they were two ships that once passed in the night. Even that thought was absurd; Snape had never gone out of his way to acknowledge her in the past. Whenever they had crossed paths, he'd either stared her down until she moved out of his way, or brushed right past her.

But in light of everything that transpired, and the way he was acting now? Hermione wished that she could go back to merely being ignored. She was unable to lie to herself: it hurt. It hurt to have the very man that held tightly onto her as she fell asleep next to him in bed, now treat her with quiet disdain. Only it wasn't quite disdain; more like indifference. What was even worse, was that he was treating her like he would any other student, save for his precious Slytherins. They always garnered a bit more respect from their Head of House.

"On your way, Miss Granger."

Hermione knew better than to go against the professor. Uncurling herself from the narrow opening, she slid out of place and stood up, stretching to rid of herself of the pins and needles in her leg that came from sitting cramped in one position for too long. Snape had obviously changed his mind about giving her detention, as he turned to walk away without uttering another word.

"Sir, wait!" she blurted out, cursing the weak sensation in her left leg as she awkwardly rushed over to the professor.

Snape had been halfway down the corridor when he stopped walking, causing his black teaching robes to swirl around his body from the abrupt halt. Arms still wrapped around her torso, Hermione slowly walked over to the professor, as if she were approaching a spooked horse. He remained stock-still, both of them now enfolded in a shadowed niche near the wall.

His buttoned up suit might as well have been a suit of armor, the way Snape staunchly stood before her with his arms also folded across his chest. His stance nearly looked defensive, and Hermione wondered if it was her that the professor was trying to protect himself from. Wanting to test her theory, she tentatively reached one hand out, only for the wizard to step back out of her clutches.

Hermione raised both eyebrows, yet she let her hand drop back down. "Why did you make me serve detention with Filch?" she demanded.

Snape surveyed the young witch for a moment, his black eyes glittering strangely in the dark. "Why do you think?" he shot back after a while.

"I'm not going to get you sacked, you know," she answered in a softer tone. "I wouldn't do that."

"It's not a matter of what you would or wouldn't do," Snape replied. "But you and I both know that there are other words that are more suitable: in apropos, improper—"

"Oh, favourable of words beginning with the letter 'I'?"

"Impudent; there's another one for you. However, if you'd like, I can think of a word beginning with the letter 'P'— prudence, Miss Granger, something that you are in sore need of exercising."

Hermione felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her head when she heard her last name. Only Snape could make her blood boil by the sound of her own name. The timbre of his deep voice tickling her ears, combined with his scent that she hadn't been able to become re-familiarised with, also grated her already agitated nerves.

It was utter madness to become cross with someone for the tone of their voice, or the scent of their skin. Yet Hermione didn't care; she wanted to stamp her foot in frustration, and yell that she didn't give a damn about bring prudent. Just when her body had started becoming accustomed to having regular sex, through no choice of her own, it came to an abrupt end.

It wasn't as if she could just forget about everything. Her mind wouldn't let her, and her body also adamantly refused to cooperate. More than once she'd found herself becoming dizzy at the very thought of the mind-blowing orgasms she had experienced at Snape's hand; there was no likely way she could push that out of her mind anytime soon.

Taking into account that her cycle was due, Hermione's hormones had been racing like a thoroughbred trying to win a derby. More than once that week, she found herself on the verge of climbing the walls with the need of having her itch scratched. Only a certain professor with callused yet nimble hands was being difficult, and had been refusing to so much as look her in the eye.

Hermione was unaware of the harried look on her face, or if she was, she made no moves to hide it. She had been inching her way closer to Severus, until their chests were nearly touching.

Snape wondered if the girl had truly gone off her rocker when she moved in close enough that he was able to smell the clean, familiar scent of her skin. Her personal fragrance had been more ardent when she was naked, and instantly he was reminded of Hermione's bare curves laid out across his bed, her soft thighs draped over his.

Another apposite word suddenly came to the professor's mind: prurient. As in, he was tempted to grasp the edge of Hermione's bulky jumper and none-too-gently pull her along with him until they reached his room in the dungeons. After that, he wouldn't let up until she begged him to.

Just when he was hoping that the headstrong witch wouldn't do anything, Hermione stood up on tiptoe and moved her face towards his. Even though they were in a darkened hallway that was absent of ghosts or nosey paintings, and miraculously, no students or staff walking about, the last thing Snape needed was for him and Hermione to engage in anything other than what would be deemed appropriate for a student and professor.

It still didn't change the fact that he was tempted to shove the young witch against the wall and press the length of his body into hers.

Snape was nearly on the verge of temporarily abandoning his better senses, purely to assuage the baser ones, when propriety kicked back in.

Hermione let out a soft grunt of surprise when she was suddenly shifted away from the wizard, trapped between him and the uneven wall. It had been too tempting to not try and kiss Severus, seeing as how they were completely alone with no distractions. One second she'd been leaning up and moving in, the next, his hands shot out and swiftly pressed against her shoulders, and she stumbled backwards and would have fallen had he not kept a firm grip on her body.

"Have you lost your mind?" Snape asked tightly. While his tone was hushed, the suppressed fury in his voice was evident, and Hermione immediately knew that she had crossed the line.

"I-I'm—" she stammered nervously, slumping back against the wall. Severus was hovered right over her, and even though she could barely make out his gaunt features, she could feel warm air coming from his nose as he huffed angrily.

Little did Hermione know, but it wasn't she who Severus was upset with. He was mad at himself for not walking away when he first encountered Hermione in the abandoned corridor; he was mad that he had been tempted to kiss and touch her for the past five minutes, and he was mad for what he knew he was about to do.

It didn't help his cause when he brought one hand up to Hermione's face and curved his potions-marred fingers around her cheek, the young woman's eyes to fluttering closed as she melted into his touch. Severus was able to see her clearly despite the heavily shadowed area, and extended his thumb to brush it across her petal-soft bottom lip.

_Merlin, help me!_ Hermione thought frantically, as she was unable to help herself. She reactively parted her lips when Severus touched her, wishing that he would press one digit inside. It seemed almost too much to expect a kiss; nonetheless, she kept hope alive. Her entire body felt aflame, even though Severus had left just enough space between them, keeping their bodies from fully touching.

Hermione was sure that she was behaving like a witch that had never been kissed, her anticipation so great that it took the form of trembling in her knees. If only Snape would move _closer._ He was right there, close enough for Hermione to brush the tip of her nose against the buttons on his frock coat, yet his face remained far enough that she would have had to wrap both arms around his shoulders and hoist herself up to plant her lips against his. And that wasn't likely; she was sure if she attempted such a thing, that Snape would bodily remove her from his person.

But the suspense was killing her. It no longer mattered that they were in the middle of an abandoned corridor in Hogwarts, or that he was her professor and nineteen years her senior; all Hermione wanted was the man who was responsible for her sexual awakening, the wizard that had continuously rearranged her head without the use of wand or spell.

Long fingers slid down from Hermione's cheek and settled around her neck, gently stroking and cupping the skin there. Shivering as she broke out into goose bumps, she tipped her head to the side, nearly forgetting that she still wanted to be kissed. She was sure that Snape was about to get down off his high horse and cave in, as he had moved in closer, until the end of his hooked nose was nearly buried in her curls.

Hermione didn't know why she chose to keep her hands at her sides, even though her palms were itching to move and grasp onto the front of Severus' frock coat. The heat from his breath continued brushing against the bridge of her nose, and his thumb caressed the notch at the base of her throat.

Feeling almost triumphant as Snape's other hand cautiously moved to her side, Hermione bit back a moan when his fingertips toyed with the hem of her jumper, raising it high enough for her to feel cool air grazing her skin. Cold met with hot as Snape's fingertips strayed over the curve of her hip, never daring to move further than the waistband of her jeans.

Letting out a quiet moan, Hermione reached out to wrap her arms around Snape, only for him to growl in displeasure. She dug her fingers into the stiff denim covering her legs, knowing it was the only way she could maintain some sort of control over her hands. It still didn't stop her from tossing her head, licking her lips as she pushed herself up against the wall, clamoring for the wizard to kiss her.

Lank black hair hung in her face and tickled her eyelids, and Snape's lips and nose were just at the vicinity of her right cheek. She swore that she heard him inhale sharply, but was too distracted by the languidly moving fingers that were still beneath her jumper.

Snape continued touching her in a hesitant manner, as if he wanted to do more, but was unsure if the advances would be welcomed. Hermione wanted to scream that they bloody well were welcome, that he could strip her and take her against the wall right then and there, to hell with anyone that may pass by.

Despite the risk of Snape hexing her, Hermione threw herself against the wizard, embracing the hard round buttons lining the front of his suit that pressed into her skin. She had just parted her lips and was intent on making Severus kiss her when a familiar snarl echoed through a not-so-distant corridor. The noise startled them both, although Hermione was the only one to visibly flinch.

"Don't roam the castle alone at night; I won't tell you again," Snape suddenly threatened in a low tone as his fingers tightened beneath her chin, a split second later hastily pulling away from Hermione as if a current had been sent throughout his body, causing the witch to scramble awkwardly to keep from falling. He then stalked off in the direction of the snarling voice, black robes billowing in his wake, leaving Hermione alone and confused in the darkened alcove.

Hermione had grown breathless, and it took her a long time to calm her aroused body. She swore that she could still feel those buttons pressing into her skin, and warm air from the way Severus' mouth almost came against hers, yet fell short. Her hip tingled where the wizard had touched seconds before, and the rest of her body felt flushed and uncomfortable.

There was no way she could return to the Common Room at that moment; her flaming face would be a dead giveaway that something happened. Besides, Snape told her not to walk around by herself, and dinner was nearly over with.

Once her breathing had grown steady, Hermione began making her way back towards the Great Hall. She soon found out the source of her and Severus' interruption.

Apparently, Peeves had somehow gotten a large amount of stale and rotting food from the kitchens, and took it upon himself to strategically leave it strewn about the floor right outside the entrance of the Great Hall.

Dinner had indeed been over with, and students and staff had begun making their way out of the Great Hall, stopping short when they saw the small mountains of apple cores and squashed tomatoes haphazardly lined across the threshold.

Filch was snapping at the students to go around the mess, issuing threats of what he would do if they made more work for him by stepping in it and trekking it throughout the castle. The caretaker was holding a broom, whose straws looked as if they had seen better days, and looked utterly harassed as he fought to keep his cat away from the scraps, all the while glaring at the gape-mouthed students as they filed past.

"Eh, girlie! What are you staring it?" Filch snarled.

Hermione was still distracted from being pressed against her Defence professor not more than five minutes ago, and didn't realise that Filch was talking to her until she looked over at him.

"Nothing!" Hermione replied in a flustered voice, trying not to gag as she hastily stepped over what looked like the remains of several chicken innards. Ron and Harry had just come out into the corridor and were both highly amused as they surveyed the mess surrounding them.

"You should have heard it, Hermione," Ron snorted. "Me and Harry were just on the way out when we heard Filch yelling and cursing up a storm. Bloody hell, he nearly shouted the castle down!"

"What happened? I thought you were going back to the Common Room?" Harry asked, gently nudging Hermione in the side.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, only they were interrupted by Peeves suddenly popping out of a nearby wall and swooping over the crowd of students.

"Whooo whoop! Whooo whoop! Oh look, it's Potty wee Potter! Whooo whoop!" the poltergeist cheerfully called, the bells jingling on his bright orange party hat as he flew around.

_"THAT'S IT! I'VE HAD IT WITH YOU, BLOODY P-!" _Filch roared, throwing down his broom in a fit of anger.

"Hey, Filchy Filch! Want me to find some fish heads for you?" Peeves taunted over the clatter of the broom and the loudly cursing caretaker, grinning devilishly as he careened over the heads of a cluster of nervous-looking first year Hufflepuffs.

Oblivious to the Filch's roaring, Peeves continued cackling and circling about mid-air, becoming further encouraged when a few student began laughing at his antics. There were a few complaining professors that were standing out in the hall. Slughorn was among them, bemoaning that he was too old for the fuss and should have never returned to Hogwarts.

Right as someone suggested fetching Dumbledore, Snape appeared out of nowhere with the Bloody Baron floating behind him. Peeves' eyes went wide at the sight of the sword-wielding ghost, and he let loose one last whoop before shooting up to the high ceiling and disappearing.

Filch went on loudly carping about the amount of cleaning he was now forced to do. He shuffled around in an attempt to pick up his fallen broom, and snorted in annoyance when a student daringly plucked it from the ground to hand it to him.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Slughorn uttered from somewhere in the group. "I'm much too old for this—do you mind?" he then asked the caretaker, who gestured with a gnarled hand for him to proceed. Slughorn stuck one pudgy hand into the inner pocket of his burgundy robes and withdrew his wand, and with a practised move, vanished the mess of spoilt food surrounding the corridor.

"All right, then?" he nodded to Filch, whom merely frowned back in response. Slughorn then made his way to the front of the queue, sweeping up the corridor and out of sight.

With everything back to normal, everyone began clearing out of the entrance hall. Hermione turned to see where Snape was standing, shocked to find that he as well as the Bloody Baron were no longer there.

_He might as well be a ghost himself,_ Hermione laughed wryly to herself at the way the professor stealthily moved around. Unfortunately, it was that same annoyingly practised ease which he earlier used to move away from her when they were hidden in the shadows.

Ginny suddenly appeared next to the trio, and Harry forgot his initial question to Hermione when he saw his girlfriend. Lavender also appeared out of nowhere, along with a sulking Parvati, and the blonde clutched onto Ron's arm.

Hermione fervently hoped that Parvati wouldn't attempt to strike up conversation with her, and was pleased to find that Parvati was choosing to mope in a quiet fashion. Hermione remained quiet also, only she was focused on the surliest professor at Hogwarts, and how they'd nearly kissed, at the same time telling herself that it was going to be hard to sleep that night.

* * *

_**(in pirate voice) Might thar be lemons ahead? Perhaps a lemon peel. ;)**_

_**xx**_


	16. Chapter 16

**_A/N: Whoaa hey, look at that! Another update at a somewhat decent hour! I still have to harass and talk dirty, err, REPLY, to all of your lovely reviews for the last chapter, and I will do so, because again, I truly appreciate them all. Reviews helps and they really do encourage the Muse, and it's also a way for me to see what else you lovely people are writing, and yall are damned good. I'm glad that some of you found my story because I've found some of your fics and have been blown away. _**

**_Oh damn. Something tells me that the e-paddling really might commence for this but err...do you trust me? *puppy dog eyes* *offers everyone tea and wine and cookies and cakes* _**

**_Did I mention that I love you all? *innocent smile* (and good luck to everyone with finals week!)_**

* * *

Hermione hadn't been lying to herself when she pondered about going to bed later that night. She tossed and turned for an hour, unable to rest, as she kept thinking back to being sandwiched between Severus and the wall. She couldn't believe that she had been hard up enough to give serious consideration to letting the professor have his way with her in the hall. Only it was as if he had no designs on doing such a thing.

Hermione wondered if he was ever going to touch her again. For the past two months, it seemed as if he had planned on doing just the opposite; if she swept past him, he pointedly ignored her, and if she saw him outside of class, he quickly put distance between them, all without giving anything away.

But tonight...what the hell was that?

She had the idea that Snape still wanted her, still desired her, judging by the undeniable firm bulge that, for a second, had pressed against the seam of her denim-covered thighs. Hermione took a certain comfort in knowing that she was still in Severus' good graces. She just wished that it would amount to them getting naked again and allowing him to have his way with her.

Hermione found herself at a point where she wasn't perturbed by the fact that she was still his student. Then again, it wasn't as if she had let that stop her before, but it was hard to deny that things would be easy with both of them being at Hogwarts, surrounded by a plethora of watchful eyes.

However, one thing Hermione had learned, was that the average person didn't pay attention to the occurrences surrounding them. It seemed that short of thrusting something beneath a person's nose, they didn't notice anything.

Snape was extremely observant, and the only other wizard that Hermione had met who maintained the same level of cognizance, was Dumbledore.

Regardless of that unambiguous point, Hermione decided that she would be very, very careful when it came to going after what she wanted most. Up until now she had managed to keep her wits about her, relatively speaking, at least, and resigned to continue doing so.

* * *

While Hermione was making plans about the best way of meeting with Snape again, the professor was back in the privacy of his rooms, and he was livid.

He was still trying to make out whether it had been a curse or a blessing that Filch's voice echoed throughout the front of the castle when he found Peeves' mess, thus interrupting something that never should have happened in the first place.

Snape's plate had been past overflowing from dealing with everything else in his life, and as of late thought had rarely been given concerning his libido. It still didn't stop him from thinking about the way the young Gryffindor witch's soft, bare skin felt against his. Of course, he also remembered with perfect clarity the way her tight body clasped around his cock, and it continuously made him sport an erection that nearly threatened to burst the well sewn seams of his trousers.

Masturbation had rarely suited the professor. It took too long, and didn't compare to the feel of another's witch's hand or mouth around him. His own callused hand definitely would never out-perform the sensation of tight, wet flesh.

All it had taken was a soft little gasp from Hermione when he had her against the wall, and instantly he was reminded of the first time he heard that gasp, which in turn made him hard to the point of pain. It had been clear that the witch was amenable to whatever he so chose at that moment, and for a split second, Snape had seriously contemplated taking her right there, or finding one of many abandoned rooms in Hogwarts that thankfully others were unaware of, and dragging her to it.

Their only saving grace had been the antics of the perpetually mischievous poltergeist, which caused the caretaker to scream and croak and shout like a lunatic. Snape was well aware of Filch's habits, and knew that the caretaker would storm the castle, yelling out in search of the headmaster or the Bloody Baron, whoever he found first, to put Peeves back in his place.

Snape told himself that Filch's irritating bellowing was the only reason that he'd pulled away from Hermione, but deep down, he knew that excuse was weak at best.

He had been trying to steer clear of the young witch, only the barriers he had so painstakingly put up, came crashing down with a vengeance when he'd found her alone, sitting beneath the archway and bathed in soft moonlight.

It had nearly been his undoing to touch Hermione with the faintest of caresses, after being personally acquainted with every inch of her body. Snape knew they had been treading dangerous waters, and that anyone could have happened across the two, but he was so attuned to the castle and its inhabitants, that he would have known.

Apart from the inappropriateness of it all, Snape found himself irritated that Hermione had been alone in the first place. Without so many words, he made sure to clearly convey that she should refrain from doing so again.

Snape, and he was sure Dumbledore, knew that Draco Malfoy was out on the prowl, and that his actions would bode to no good to anyone that mistakenly crossed his path. Snape had already managed to stop Draco from nearly poisoning a fourth-year Ravenclaw, which had merely been a distraction solely in means of more malicious intent.

The young man had been pushed into the proverbial corner, and without would retaliate in a hasty, unplanned manner. Draco wasn't thinking clearly, and was also a danger to himself. Because of the Unbreakable Vow that Snape made with Narcissa, he also had to keep safe Draco from self-harm, be it accidental or by design.

Snape would never admit it, but he knew that Hermione Granger had always been a target of Draco, as well as his cronies, what the professor considered mere sycophants. Hermione was bright where Draco was lazy. On more than one occasion, the young blond had complained about 'Mudblood Granger this,' and 'Mudblood Granger that', to the professor, as well as his father.

Lucius Malfoy had made it clear that Draco should be ashamed of himself for allowing a girl of no wizarding parents to gain higher marks than him in every subject since the two both began at Hogwarts. Lucius had even mentioned Hermione's academic prowess to Snape, to which the professor merely replied that the girl thought she knew everything, and that she should have near-perfect marks, as her head was always in a book.

That had been during the students' second year. Even then, Snape never commented about Granger's blood status, as it meant nothing to him. He could take a tenner and the fact that Granger was Muggle-born, and neither of which would have gotten him very far. Snape didn't give a damn about where anyone came from. The only thing he was focused on was keeping himself alive as he went to each meeting with the Dark Lord, and holding onto the little bit of sanity that he had left every since his life had gone to shite.

It had been a hard lesson to learn, but blood status, where someone was born, where they came from...it all amounted to nothing in the end. Blood status meant little to the Dark Lord. True, he was prejudiced against those who were Muggle-born, but Snape had witnessed the evil wizard do away with purebloods just as easily when they displeased him.

There had been times where Snape wanted to explain this to the students of Slytherin House, yet another part of him knew that they would be eventually forced to understand that point, one way or another.

In any event, Snape knew that had Draco managed to get away with one of his ill-thought out actions, that he would be to blame. As Head of House, a House which unfairly had the reputation for being solely iniquitous, Snape had on more than one occasion found himself speaking to the headmaster or other professors about a student in Slytherin. The last thing he needed was to try and cover up the fact that one of his own had attempted to murder another student.

If said student happened to be a certain bushy-haired Gryffindor, he definitely would have taken issue with it. Snape knew that he wouldn't be able to outright behave in a manner that ran in conjunction with his emotions concerning the young witch, but he could not deny that he wouldn't be completely unaffected if something were to happen to her.

Which had been why, yet again, he told Hermione to take heed and look after herself.

What he really wanted to do was lure her his rooms, settle down with her naked body in his armchair, and hold onto her hips as she rode him to completion. Thinking about that, Snape told himself that _lure_ was an exaggeration, as want had clearly been all over Hermione's face, and she mostly likely would have been glad to follow him.

If Hermione had followed him...no, he wouldn't think about it. To ponder over the _what-ifs _would only make him crazy. Crazy was not something that Snape could afford at the moment. It had been bad enough that he allowed himself to succumb to his baser desires that evening, even if for a moment. He had already done two months without the pleasures of Hermione's body. It had been difficult, yet he vowed to press on and continue doing the same.

* * *

Things still hadn't changed all that much on a day-to-day basis, but Hermione didn't anticipate anything else. Snape still treated her with the same impartiality in class as before. Even if his aloof attitude was expected, it always made her want to roll her eyes.

The only difference, she did note, was that Snape had begun looking more haggard than usual. His hair was lankier than ever, and the already sharp cheekbones stood out more than was normal. Secretly privy to scant details of his double life, Hermione knew that the professor was encountering things that she nor her friends could begin to comprehend, but it still didn't keep her from worrying about the man.

Even though Snape had, in his own way, warned Hermione to keep her distance, she couldn't help but to linger behind after class one day, and politely as possible, ask if he was alright. The professor merely gave her a curt nod and told her to be on her way, before turning around in a swish of black robes to clean the chalkboard.

While the professor had always had a muted mettle about him, it seemed as if something else was going on, or that everything in his life was finally taking its toll.

Keeping that in mind, Hermione did her best to not annoy him in class or elsewhere for that matter. Part of her wanted to tell her friends not to bother the wizard as well, but it was all for naught, as Ron and Harry bore an intense dislike for the professor and didn't try to hide it. The only thing Hermione wished would stop was the way they would sometimes badmouth Snape, and even then, she had to rein in her protests, lest they become too suspicious.

In between worrying about the professor and everything else surrounding the dubious circumstances of the wizarding world, Hermione was still studying during every free period she had. Harry was still out-performing everyone in Potions, and it continued to annoy her to no end.

Wanting passing marks, Ron began to even ask Harry for help in class, which floored Hermione the first time she heard him. Usually Ron, and Harry, for that matter, always begged her for help, and now the tables had turned. Hermione had been almost desperate to ask Harry if she could look at his illicit graffiti-covered Potions text, before stiffening her upper lip and refusing to do so. By hook or by crook, she wanted to brew each potion of her own accord, and not by use of some debatable source.

The last Potions class left Hermione in a red-faced and very flustered state. Her draught refused to turn the proper shade of green, and over and over she reread the instructions until she was able to recite them verbatim. It had been all she could do to not look over into Harry's cauldron, whose potion was the perfect shade of freshly mown grass.

Slughorn had immediately swept to Harry's side, jovially announcing to the class that Harry was the only one whose potion was perfect. Malfoy, who for the most part had still been in his old little world, even broke out of his reverie to sneer in their direction.

Even though Hermione had a chip on her shoulder because she knew _why_ Harry's potion was perfect, it didn't stop her hackles from raising when Malfoy gave her best friend a dirty look. It was alright if _she_ was mad at Harry, but Draco could piss off as far as she was concerned. And besides, Malfoy could never do wrong, when it came to his Head of House. The young man had been getting away with murder from day one, and the only one that didn't give a damn about threats of Malfoy Senior coming for revenge had been Mad-Eye Moody.

The memory of Malfoy being turned into a frightened, twitchy little ferret was the only thing that kept Hermione from getting completely worked up. It still didn't totally obliterate her anger. When class was finally over, Hermione pushed her damp, frizzy curls back out of her face, wiping perspiration dotting her forehead onto the back of her sleeve.

After sulkily pointing a wand at her cauldron (her potion had remained the same taunting shade of lime green), Hermione found herself rushing towards Slughorn's desk, begging him to allow her to try her potion again.

The fussy professor wasn't keen on giving up his leisure time to pander to Hermione's perfectionist whims, but she innocently pointed out that she was a Prefect who had permission to be out when others didn't, and that she could leave her finished potion in a phial at his office, and he would never need to watch over her. When Slughorn was told that all he would need to do was unlock the classroom door for Hermione when she came down, he finally relented.

Thanking the professor, Hermione went back to her desk and collected her things. She strongly suspected that Slughorn had only agreed to the do-over to make her stop nagging him and go away, but she didn't care.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked when Hermione caught up with him and Harry further down the hall.

"Professor Slughorn's giving me another chance to try my potion," Hermione answered tightly. "He said that during the day on Saturday he's busy, but if I want to come later in the evening, that I can."

"But you'll miss the Hallowe'en Feast," Harry frowned.

"If it makes you feel better, you can save me a few apples," Hermione said as they walked towards their next class. "You know I never eat all of those cakes and custards; most of it is too sweet for me."

"Yeah, but you scarfed down that chocolate we bought you!" Ron pointed out with a grin.

"Chocolate is different," she told him defiantly. _And I had my period, therefore, I had a solid excuse._

"Oh yeah, I forget how you females go barmy for chocolate, especially when your—" Ron began, only for Hermione to shriek soundly and slap him on the arm.

It was one thing for her two male best friends to buy her chocolate, yet it was another for her to discuss any aspect of her feminine attributes, especially the most personal ones. Hermione was surprised that Ron had even begun to mention what she thought he was going to mention, as he was usually squeamish when it came to matters like so.

Ginny had openly complained about horrendous cramps once, as she had been in so much pain, all thoughts of being secretive had flown out the window.

The group was at the Burrow, and Hermione and Ginny were in her bedroom. Ginny had been curled up on her floor, seconds away from banging her head on her bedpost. Hermione had been on the verge of offering her some Muggle painkillers when Harry and Ron knocked on the door. Ron had been wary when he saw his sister doubled over with a contorted face. He then asked what was wrong with her, only it had come out sounding a bit insensitive, and Ginny actually snarled a few choice words that sounded harsher than usual as she explicitly told her brother what was wrong.

Fred and George had come running when they heard the noise, and somehow immediately knew what the problem was. When they pointed out to Ron that their baby sister was 'on', and that unless he had chocolate, he should leave her alone, Ron's face turned the colour of the sunset, and he quickly got out of dodge, leaving behind a chortling Harry.

After that, Ron didn't want to hear anything about the happenings of a female body. Fred and George teased their brother at every opportunity after that; even Ginny laughed once she felt better. Hermione had also been embarrassed by the entire exchange, as she preferred to keep that sort of thing to herself.

Oddly enough, Hermione had allowed Snape to strip her naked and pull her into his lap, and nearly felt his eyes burning into her skin as they studied the most intimate area of her body, and while she had felt shy, she hadn't felt embarrassed. Even after her first time, Hermione had been sure there was a telling mess on her thighs; he'd used his wand to cleanse her, and that hadn't bothered her. Possibly because the wizard was always so serious, and never outright laughed at or joked about anything. He definitely had a twisted sense of humour, that was certain, but Hermione never saw him release a deep belly laugh the way Ron or Harry would. She reasoned that there wasn't a lot of cause for the wizard to laugh, and it made her sad.

Despite the horrors that she and her friends had experienced, they always found something to laugh at. Laughter helped them get through things.

Still, there was some part of Hermione that wondered how long that would last.

* * *

Snape was, in fact, utterly knackered. He had been to see the Dark Lord twice in one week, which was two times too many. Voldemort demanded to know how Draco was faring in his assignment, and he had to come up with an answer that was acceptable.

While Draco obviously had something up his sleeve, the details of which Snape was still trying to flesh out, it forced him to continue shadowing the young man. Draco was unaware that he was being watched, and that was how Snape preferred it.

Another person in the castle was unaware that they were being watched, although said espionage was being carried out for more than one reason, all of which were at opposite ends of the spectrum.

Snape's carried an inherent sense of shrewdness, and he noticed things even when he wasn't trying. His black eyes always honed in on Hermione Granger when he caught sight of her in the corridors. He watched her while she was in his class, he watched her when she wasn't in his class. Even though he didn't always stay for meals in the Great Hall, he would pass by long enough to let his dark eyes briefly take in the view.

He knew that Hermione was too smart for her own good. It was something that intrigued Snape, at the same time making him extra cautious. Too much curiosity could, in fact, be hazardous, especially when dealing with one who was persistent in search for answers, and would go to any means of obtaining them.

Hermione had an audacious streak that could possibly lead her into something that she wouldn't be able to handle. Her two mates weren't any better; countless times Snape had to save all three of their hides. One specific time stood out in his mind, and it was an event he would unfortunately never forget.

Hermione and her friends were only thirteen when they nearly became Remus Lupin's cuddly toy. And while many of the pupils danced, stepped, and trod on his very last nerve, Snape wasn't a complete bastard. The last thing he wanted to see was a child, or anyone, for that matter, be made into a late-night wolf snack.

Snape had been adamantly against letting the wizard teach at Hogwarts, knowing about his allergy to the full moon. It had been no surprise when Dumbledore ignored his protests. Snape, at times, seriously wondered if the headmaster thought that being sorted into Gryffindor was an automatic ticket to being a 'good' person, although he kept his mouth shut. Whether Lupin's intentions were good, bad, or indifferent, fact remained that he turned into a werewolf by the light of a full moon, and should not be around innocent children, even if said innocent children more often than not made Snape want to string them up by their toes.

After learning about Lupin's condition, Snape had never trusted him. Even though he seemed to be less of a bastard compared to his Marauder counterparts—relatively speaking only, because to Snape, a person that still stood by and watched his mates bully another person was just as bad. He kept a shrewd eye upon the sandy-haired wizard all throughout their time at school, and now, even during meetings for the Order.

It been that same cunning of Snape's that saved the Golden Trio from being torn to shreds the night they saved the former perpetual pain in his arse, Sirius Black. Now, it was how he knew where Hermione was currently on her way to that following Saturday evening.

He wanted to berate Slughorn for allowing the young witch to, one, walk around unescorted so late at night, and two, handle volatile ingredients without supervision in an empty classroom. However, if Hermione ended up hurting herself then Slughorn would be blamed, and possibly the forever carping professor could return to his life of retirement, fancy chocolates, and ridiculous looking pastel-coloured velvet robes.

Then again...if she did hurt herself, and Slughorn got the sack, Snape figured that he would be relegated to teaching Potions again, and that was _not_ a risk he was willing to take. He'd sooner dress up like pouf Lockhart or Slughorn than deal with exploding cauldrons from mentally-absent teenagers.

Therefore, he took it upon himself to watch the Gryffindor's tenacious effort of righting what she deemed to be a serious blunder.

The classroom door had been open wide enough for Snape to stand by and watch as Hermione began the preparations for brewing. Slughorn surprisingly had the forethought to leave out all of the needed ingredients, and the only thing Hermione had to do was set up her cauldron.

Mercifully, the corridor was alone, as Snape felt like a heel standing there, watching the young witch as if he were some sort of peeping Tom. Although, even if a student were to happen by, they wouldn't dare question him. Short of the students from his House, everyone else tried to hurriedly walk past Snape when they noticed him.

The Potions classroom had always been kept at a lower temperature by use of cooling charms. Ingredients were stored in a small stockroom off to the side and were susceptible to damage by an influx in temperate. On top of that, the small room became increasingly stuffy when it was filled with steaming cauldrons.

Tethered to the stifling room, day in and day out, for over ten years had only aggravated the state of his skin and already limp hair, making it more oily than usual. When Snape first began teaching at Hogwarts, he tried all sorts of potions and shampoos to keep his hair from looking like an oil slick. It only took a year of teaching Potions before he finally gave up. It hadn't been as if anyone tried to chat him up. Most people thought about him only when they wanted something. Students only acknowledged him to either hand in homework, ask a question in class, or to insult him when they thought he was out of earshot.

If only some of the students had been able to learn what the professor thought of them. Seeing as how they were all children, he never expected for many of them to take anything seriously. Snape didn't give a damn what they did outside of his classroom, but he made sure that they respected him and behaved with decorum while in his.

Of course, there was always the odd nitwit that he had to put in place, annoyingly enough, some of them from his very own House.

With irritation, he remembered two seventh year girls that he'd taught a few years ago. The pair had been so intent on flirting with another student, who had been focused on his own work and didn't pay the girls any attention, that one of the them never noticed the ends of her hair catching fire.

Snape couldn't remember the daft girl's name, but he had hastily aimed his wand at her head, dousing the fire with a torrent of water that shot from the tip. He had then berated the girl, told her that she would receive zero marks for the day, before snapping at her to go to Madam Pomfrey. He'd still been irritated by the sight of her once giggling and then frightened-looking friend, and had also told her to escort her mate to the hospital wing.

It had been times like so that made Snape wish that he was working alone, in an apothecary or such. At least he wouldn't have had to deal with idiotic students that were in danger of haphazardly burning down themselves, along with an entire classroom.

Another one of his students had curls that weren't voluminous as Hermione's, yet the simple girl refused to tie her hair back, and spent more time pushing the mass out of her face than focusing on her potion. Snape had grown tired of watching the girl fuss with her hair, and quietly told her to either secure it into place, or he would excuse her from class to do so, while giving her zero marks for the day.

Now looking at Hermione, he saw that she had pulled her curls back into a messy ponytail, the ends dangling down her shoulders and grazing the back of a pink, white, and purple stripy oversized jumper. Her school robes were absent, and he had a clear view of her rounded denim covered behind as she leaned over the countertop, frowning down at her Potions textbook.

Judging by the pungent smell wafting towards the door, Snape knew that Hermione was brewing Wiggenweld Potion. One petite hand moved to pick up a handful of Moly petals. Hermione tossed it into her bubbling cauldron, hissing in annoyance when she clearly didn't gain the desired results.

"This is ridiculous!" she snapped out loud, snatching up a stirring rod and plunging it into the steaming cauldron. "I've followed these bloody instructions to the letter and this damned thing still won't come out right!"

The vapour from her cauldron smelled much too woodsy, and at once Snape knew what had gone wrong in the process. Like Hermione, he too, was always set on doing things in a perfect manner, and wanted to tell the witch where she had made her mistake. Yet he remained at the door, curious to see what she was going to do next.

Hermione continued grumbling and dragging her stirring rod through the liquid, cursing down at her Potions textbook when her leg started itching. Resignedly letting go of the stirring rod, she anchored both hands onto the edge of the desk, lifting one trainer encased foot to scratch her calf with her toe. Sighing in relief, she then lowered her foot back to the ground and continued flipping pages in her textbook.

Snape wondered how many times Hermione was going to go through that damned textbook, seeking different answers from the same directions. Finally, he was no longer able to hold his tongue.

"Surely you are aware that the words aren't going to change?"

Hermione was startled by his voice and froze into place. It was obvious that she thought she was completely alone, but when she turned her head and saw the professor stiffly standing in the doorway, staring across at her, her eyes lit up. Snape couldn't remember the last time he saw anyone's eyes light up at the sight of him, yet tucked that away for future reference.

"Professor Slughorn gave me permission to come down here," Hermione began. "I'm making—"

"Wiggenweld Potion. What colour is it?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow as Snape strode into the classroom, shutting the door behind him and coming around to the other side of her desk. She could scarcely believe that he was a few feet away from her, and it took great effort for her to focus.

"Green; bright green," she answered after peering into her cauldron. "This is the same thing that happened the other day. I've done everything it says in my book, and still it—"

Snape was silent as he surveyed the sorted piles of ingredients set out on the workspace. "Silent as the grave; do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione answered, eager to partake of the knowledge that was about to be bestowed upon her.

"Your Moly petals still have stems on them, and you need more Moondew drops than you have."

"But the potion only calls for three six drops; why would I need more?"

_"Think, _Miss Granger. I'm well aware that the potion only calls for six, but if you put exactly six into the phial, some of the liquid is going to stick to the sides and you'll actually end up using less than you anticipated."

Immediate comprehension covered Hermione's face, and she moved to walk over to the storeroom for more of the ingredient. Snape, however, told her to remain where she was, that he would get the bottle.

Snape was somewhat mollified to find that Slughorn had left the small supply closet in the same state that he'd left it from the previous school year. Then again...he wasn't surprised. The elderly wizard eschewed anything that reeked of monotonous labour, and would have thrown up a white flag if he had to sort everything out alphabetically and by degree of freshness.

Once Hermione had been given more Moondew, Snape took a seat across from the witch and watched as she worked.

"Err...am I doing this correctly?" she asked, pausing to look across at the professor, who was sitting ramrod straight on a stool with both arms folded.

"This is your work; you'll do it on your own. I'm here merely to make sure that you don't kill yourself in the process."

"I don't think I've yet reached levels of desperation where I'd want to drown myself in my cauldron, thanks," Hermione replied, choking back a snort.

She was still trying to wrap her head around the idea that Snape was across from her, the only thing separating them consisting of a few inches of black marble countertop. Usually the professor had made all of his students carry their own weight, and if they'd had any questions, no one had the moxie to actually ask Snape for help, as they knew his penchant for getting short with them. To boot, the man never offered suggestions, unless it was one that hinted towards serving detention. Which was why Hermione was surprised that he offered her two Knuts worth of advice before settling down onto a stool.

Hermione worked quietly for the next thirty minutes, with Snape still across from her, arms folded across his chest with both hands hidden in the folds of his black teaching robes. She took the suggestions that he made about each ingredient, managing to come up with some conclusions mostly of her own accord, going forth with them only after briefly glancing at Snape to see if he approved.

He met each of her unspoken questions with a curt nod, his black eyes focused on her hands as she moved between the table and the cauldron. When her potion was finally the proper shade of green, Hermione nearly collapsed with relief.

"It worked! I can't believe it work," she gushed. "I knew there was no way that—" she had been about to say that _there was no way Harry could brew a potion that I can't _when she stopped herself, realising that Snape was looking at her, waiting for to finish. "Anyway, thank you."

Snape gave another one of those nods. He wondered what Hermione had been about to say before she cut herself off, but decided to not ask. She was now bottling her potion and cleaning up the desk when he spoke again.

"Miss Granger, you were present at Hogwarts for your fourth year; were you not?"

"Umm...yes..." Hermione trailed off, wondering where he was going with the decidedly odd question.

"Are you certain? Perhaps it was a doppelganger, or another foray into the wonders of Polyjuice Potion."

Hermione gasped when she heard Snape making an indirect reference to her blunder during her second year at Hogwarts. Trust him to not let her forget about it. She always wondered if he knew about the time she accidentally turned herself into a cat. If Snape did know, he never said anything, and Hermione decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth. The man had already humiliated her in front of his Slytherins when Draco hexed her teeth; the last thing she needed was for them to meow and hiss at her as she passed them in the corridors.

When Hermione remained silent, as she wasn't sure if she should open her mouth again, Snape continued on.

"I only ask because it seems that in addition to Wiggenweld Potion, you are also in dire need of Wit-Sharpening Potion. I distinctly remember telling you not to roam the castle by yourself, and most definitely not at his abysmal hour."

"I...err...well, I had to correct my work! I couldn't finish my potion and I _refuse _to get a zero marks, not after studying from sun up till sundown!" Hermione shot back in indignation.

"And I told you to mind your head! When I say something, it's for a reason, girl."

Snape had risen from the stool and stalked over to Hermione in a flurry of black robes. He now stood over her, irritation written all over his face.

"Yes, sir," Hermione meekly answered, lowering her head in shame.

"Get your things. I'll escort you back to the Slughorn's office and then to the feast. I still don't know why that idiot consented to allowing you down here on your own."

"I guess he didn't think anything would happen," Hermione suggested, furtively peeking up to look at Snape's face. "I mean, it's not as if anyone else is willingly going to ask to make over their work on a Saturday night, much less when there's a feast going on in the Great Hall."

Snape gave a little snort, but he was in agreement. If most students had to choose between brewing foul-smelling potions compared to gorging themselves on sweets and pies, they would definitely go for the latter option.

"Speaking of feast, you look as if you could do with a proper meal or two," Hermione pointed out, trying to keep her tone light. "Or maybe it's only my eggs that you like."

Hermione suspected that she was being too chatty for the professor's liking, as he stopped right where he was and stared her down. Save for the slightly arched right eyebrow, the rest of his face remained inexpressive. Refusing to be swayed, Hermione continued smiling at the professor. It was hard to keep a straight face at the moment, as she felt happier than she cared to admit, purely because she was near the person that she had been longing for.

Only it seemed that Snape had other intentions— none of which entailed them staying in one another's company for a minute longer. He was already on his way to the classroom door when Hermione tossed her belongings back down on the lab table and rushed over to him.

"Don't leave yet," she urged. "Please?"

Hermione had walked right up on Snape, tentatively resting one hand on his shoulder. The wizard immediately stiffened at the contact, although she noticed that he didn't tell her to move.

"Sorry," Hermione apologised, removing her hand. She still remained behind Snape, mentally willing him to not leave the classroom. Thankful that the door had been closed, and hopefully locked, Hermione walked around to stand in front of him, slightly taken aback when she saw the tense look clouding his haggard features.

Snape exhaled sharply, bringing up one hand to his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. He almost regretted ever setting foot inside of the classroom. He should have know that he would be tempted to have with his way with Hermione, as her presence was catalyst enough to stir his arousal. The fact that they were alone, with no one knowing that they were inside, made matters worse. Of course, Slughorn knew that Hermione was down in the classroom, but there was a better chance of the Dark Lord giving up his quest for power and living as a Muggle than of the elderly professor waddling his way down to see how she was faring.

Snape knew that Slughorn was most likely in the middle of enjoying a tumbler of aged brandy or the like, wrapped up in one of his robes with his feet propped before the hearth. The man hadn't changed all that much from his stint as Slytherin's Head of House and Potions master when Severus was a student.

Taking that tidbit of knowledge into account, Snape knew that it would be hours before Hermione was looked for by her friends. McGonagall wouldn't notice her absence, as she was usually early to bed. Just then, Hermione slowly extended her right arm, curving her fingers over his wrist and pulling his hand down from in front of his face.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked with more concern. "All teasing aside, I think you—"

"I'm fine, Miss Granger," he interrupted.

"Hermione. We're alone; surely you can use my first name."

Snape had allowed Hermione to move his arm, and now it hung limply by his side. She was still holding onto his wrist and unflinchingly staring up into his face, something that comforted yet unnerved him at the same time.

_Still innocent; too innocent,_ he thought. _A shame it will all be ruined after this._

"We're surrounded by another set of walls, Miss Granger. Walls that connote something completely different than previously."

Hermione looked so forlorn that it was nearly painful to watch. _Why the hell does she look so disappointed? _

Snape had desperately tried to forget their last encounter in the darkened hallway. He hadn't been able to see her face clearly at that time, but the feel of that small patch of soft skin beneath his fingertips was anything but unforgettable. The desperation in her voice had been enough to make him want to hand over the reins to his self-control. The only thing that stopped him had been Filch yelling up a storm, threatening death upon the person that had destroyed the entrance hall and its floors with rotten food.

So what was stopping him now?

"Please..." she choked out, suddenly sounding as if she wanted to cry. "Severus..."

Hermione's eyes were beseeching, and she whispered his name so sweetly, so painfully, that Snape was almost ready to do anything she asked. He stood completely still as the little witch closed the gap between them, pressing her petite body against his and standing up on tiptoe to softly kiss him.

This time their lips actually touched, and that small flicker of pleasure was enough to make him bend to Hermione's will. Her arms tentatively made their way around his neck, and her fingertips stroked the unwashed hair at the nape of his neck.

Not once did Hermione complain about the too-slick feeling on her fingertips. She twirled and played with the lank strands as her mouth teasingly moved over his, using just enough tongue to moisten his bottom lip.

No longer able to hold out, Snape wound his arms around Hermione's waist, pulling her fully against him. The witch moaned into his mouth at the sudden gesture, nearly collapsing against him when his thin lips moved to the side of her neck.

Her body tingled all over, and Hermione was screaming, hoping, praying, that Severus wouldn't stop and push her away like she was accustomed to him doing. She knew that she had been desperate for any kind of intimate attention from the professor, but didn't realise just how much she'd been craving it until his arms slipped around her body. The feel of his slender form against hers was enough to make Hermione's breathing grow heavy, and she silently tried to inveigle Snape into going farther by pulling him tighter against her.

She had just nuzzled her face against his chest, digging her fingers into the sleeves of his frock coat when Snape suddenly froze, next attempting to pull away from her. "No! Why are you stopping— don't stop!" Hermione protested, slipping her arms around his back and tightening her grasp.

"No, Granger, stand back," Snape replied tightly as he continued trying to move out of her clutches, but Hermione wasn't having it.

_"Hermione,_ and why do you want to stop? It isn't as if anyone is going to walk in. Here, I'll even make sure the door is locked," she reassured, moving one arm from around him to pluck her wand from her back pocket and cast a spell in the direction of the door. "See? Nice and secure."

"Oh, really? And what are you expecting, pray tell? For us to rut around in here like a pair of teenagers in heat?"

Hermione was speechless. She didn't know what she was expecting to happen, although sex in the Potions classroom hadn't really crossed her mind. It wasn't the cleanest place or the most comfortable, not to mention the frigid air surrounding them would surely make her nipples and lady bits freeze and fall off. She was sure that Snape was also attached to his dangly bits, and wished them to remain in place.

"No, I wasn't expecting that," she admitted. "But what else do you want me to say? We were interrupted last time, and I—"

Hermione stopped herself as if it was paining her to speak. Snape was searchingly looking into her face, as if he was trying to figure out what he was planning on doing with her. Ignoring the speculative look, Hermione decided that she wanted to be kissed and threw herself against him, buzzing angrily into his mouth when he didn't immediately return it.

For a brief second, Snape allowed his resolve to shatter, before remembering that he'd been trying to stay away from Hermione. Yet the feel of her soft lips against his was too great to resist, and shortly after, he began returning her affections with ardour. The scent of her skin was enough to give him flashbacks of the two clinging to one another in bed back at Grimmauld Place. He even missed her annoying hair, and his slender hands dove into the mass, freeing her messy ponytail and hastily dropping the elastic hair grip, causing it to become lost somewhere on the stone classroom floor.

The longer they kissed, the more his erection made itself known, until it was pressed against the placket of his trousers and digging into Hermione's stomach. He couldn't believe that the young Gryffindor was forward enough to run her hand over his chest, gliding down until she reached his erection. She ran her hand along the length before squeezing gently, pulling back to stare up into his face.

Snape had to fight back a groan when Hermione brought down the other hand, in obvious aims of unfastening his trousers and pulling out his now painfully erect penis. He couldn't handle that; not taking into account the amount of time that passed since they were last intimate. There was no way they could go that far without him being tempted to shove her facedown against the filthy lab table, yanking down her jeans and taking her from behind.

_"No!"_ he snapped, swatting her hands away.

Hermione returned his frown with a defiant glare, bringing both hands back down to the front of his trousers. When Snape grabbed hold of her wrists, Hermione daringly took another approach and began to drop to her knees, only for him to slide his hands down her forearms and swiftly tug her back up.

"Stop it. Just stop."

"No."

_"Granger."_

_"Her-my-oh-nee."_

Silence.

Snape's breathing sounded like an angry bull's, one who kept having a red cape waved in front of him, only for it to be pulled away.

"Just let me touch you, please? That's all I'll do, I promise."

Even through the muddled lighting, Snape could see that Hermione's brown eyes were soft and pleading. The way she sounded, she might have been a child that was asking to have dessert before dinner. But how the hell could he resist an offer like so, especially when requested with such earnest?

Snape didn't know how he'd allowed himself to get cornered off, but when Hermione wriggled her wrists out of his grasp and one again brought both hands to the placket of his trousers, he didn't impede her progress.

One minute, Hermione was unfastening the last button on his trousers, the next, Snape had swiftly shifted them to a more remote location of the classroom, forcing her against a part of the wall that was absent of the wide shelves that were strategically placed elsewhere. He shoved one knee between her thighs so suddenly that she had to grasp onto his forearms to keep from falling. When she managed to catch her balance, Hermione used her right hand to finish what she started.

She heard Severus inhale sharply when she reached into his trousers and boxers, and for a moment she allowed her fingertips to graze through the thick patch of coarse pubic hair that was just below the elastic waistband. Hermione was inches away from actually touching him, when Severus let out a noise that could only be construed as a growl, grasping her wrist and forcing her hand lower. She had to actually fight back a moan as Severus' long fingers forced her to wrap her hand around him, much like he'd done when she first touched him.

His hand may as well have been manacles, so firm was his grip upon hers, and with a groan, Severus guided Hermione into squeezing the already leaking tip of his cock before completely pulling it out and exposing it to the cool dungeon air. His erection felt like velvet-covered steel against her palm, and his skin was hot, hotter than she remembered, to the point that he felt feverish.

The professor then let out a broken sounding grunt as he placed both hands to either side of her head, bracing himself against the stone wall as he thrust forward into her fist. That sound and the small, jerky movement of his narrow hips was enough to set her blood boiling, and a dull throbbing began between her legs.

Hermione's deep breathing nearly matched Severus', as if she was the one being touched instead of him. The wall behind her was rough and digging uncomfortably into her back, and her legs were beginning to ache from straining to hold herself up. But if Hermione had only one complaint at that moment, it would be that Severus was too tall for her to properly kiss him again.

He was hovered over her, and the angle in which they were pressed together left his head on top of hers. The firm length of his body continued crushing her into the wall, and Hermione had to awkwardly manoeuvre her hand between them, not wanting to let go of his cock. While their stance wasn't the most comfortable, it would have to do for now. Other than that, the last thing she expected was to see Severus that evening, and now that she literally and figuratively had him in the palm of her hand, she definitely had no plans of stopping any time soon.

Snape's dragon-hide boots made a faint scuffling noise as he shifted his feet, trying to gain purchase as he continued evenly fucking Hermione's now dampened fist. The only thing he could focus on was the soft, small hand greedily wrapped around and tugging on his shaft. He knew that he was leaking all over her skin like some inexperienced youth that was in the midst his first experience, as Hermione's palm was now quite slippery, and it sent little jolts of pleasure throughout his body as it slid easily over him.

His weight kept her propped up against the wall. It wasn't as if Hermione would have been able to move, anyway; his leg was still between her thighs, and she trembled each time her muscles tensed.

The room was dim enough for Snape to make out the increasingly wanton look on Hermione's face. She exhaled, the tail end of it switching into a moan when he shifted his knee to press against the seam at the crotch of her jeans. The young witch was clearly aroused, and tilted her head back as much as their position would allow her to, while angling her hips to rub herself against his leg.

While Snape knew that he couldn't take Hermione the way he wanted to, he was still mollified to hear the little moans and gasps that escaped her lips as she continued writhing against him. The girl was clearly losing her head, as she stopped moving her hand around him at one point. Snape had to move his own right hand down from the wall and enclose it over Hermione's, wordlessly encouraging her to keep going.

Between her breathless little pants and her hand now firmly gripping him again, Snape knew that he wasn't going to last long, nor did he care.

By that time, Hermione was completely beside herself. The seat of her knickers were completely sodden, the slippery fluid seeping out and spreading around each time she grinded down onto the top of Severus' thigh. Turning her head to the side, she saw that his eyes were closed and his features were tense. The vein at his temple flickered, and it looked as if he was clenching his jaw.

While Severus' rapidly mounting arousal was silent, save for his ragged breathing inches away from her ear, Hermione could feel the sinews of his slim body against hers, able to feel his limbs wrought with tension, despite the many layers of his still buttoned frock coat and teaching robes. His trousers had somehow remained up on his hips, the material folded down leaving just enough room in front to allow her access.

A tremor coursed throughout Snape's body, making Hermione shudder in response, and she was caught with the need to touch more of him. Continuously moving her right hand back and forth over his cock, she used her left to clutch onto the front of his frock coat, her fingers clumsily pulling at the buttons. When she wasn't able to gain purchase that way, she impatiently shoved her hand beneath the hem, scrabbling through the fabric of his shirt beneath to untuck it from the waistband of his trousers.

It seemed as if the wizard had a locking charm on his clothes, as she was unable to completely pull the material free, which in turn made Hermione frustrated. She settled for wrapping arm around his narrow waist, grasping a handful of stiff black material at the small of his back.

Still gracelessly rocking her hips against Severus' leg, Hermione found that it was merely palliative, and not nearly enough friction to actually bring her to orgasm. She desperately wanted to kick off her jeans and knickers, without caring how Severus got her off, so long as he did. Yet she was thrown off when swiftly he moved over her, wrapping one arm around her waist and insinuating his hand beneath the edge of her jumper. His fingers dug into the warm, delicate skin of her hip, while his other arm snaked its way across her upper back, fisting a handful of curls and tugging her head down to expose her neck.

Hermione's body jerked as if a flame had been set to her. Severus' mouth pressed against her skin was enough to make her lose her head. Her sudden moan would have echoed throughout the classroom, only just as it was on the brink of escaping, Severus moved from her neck and planted his mouth over hers.

Both became lost in a tangle of tongues and lips fervently moving against each other. Snape was finding it harder to hold onto his composure, and the more she pulled and tugged on him, the tighter his grip on her waist became until he could bear no more. His lips tightened against Hermione's as a strained sounding grunt erupted from his chest. His entire body jerked and shuddered against hers as his cock twitched in her hand, and the sudden movement nearly made them both fall.

Effectively pinning the witch against the wall by dint of his pistoning hips, he thrust faster into the gripping hand as each wave washed over him, sagging against Hermione once they subsided. His chest continued to heave against her, and he was panting into her hair. It took several minutes for Snape to remember that his fingers were still embedded in her curls. Only when he uncurled them did he find that he'd been firmly grabbing onto the strands as if they were a rope. It had been a wonder that the girl didn't scream for him pulling on her hair so roughly.

Hermione had barely noticed when Severus' grip became ironclad on her curls. She had experienced another onrush of juices trickling out of her body when he groaned into her mouth as he reached climax, and the only thing she'd been able to focus on was the feel of him coming apart as they held onto one another. Just then did it dawn on her that she hadn't found release, and that it was painful. Her body throbbed and hurt to feel empty, knowing that it craved for Severus to come into her, to fill her up like he always did.

But she was greedy and wanted it all. She wanted them both naked, with Severus' mouth devouring hers as he plunged into her over and over again. She wanted to wrap her legs around his waist, lock her feet at the small of his back, and dig her fingers into his shoulders. Hermione hadn't paid attention to those things while they had been in the heat of the moment, but once their trysts had stopped, those little nuances were the things that kept flooding her mind as she lay in bed at night.

When Snape had caught his breath, he pulled his hand from beneath Hermione's jumper and moved back. Even though she was content to remain the way they were, Hermione carefully let go of his deflating penis. Her hand was still sticky from his pre-ejaculate, although her jumper had mostly fallen victim to his actual release. The translucent, pearly fluid clung in strings to the knit woolen material, some of it having even made its way to her collar.

In her completely flustered state, Hermione was unaware of her disheveled appearance. The only thing she knew was that her body was humming with the need for her own release. Her knickers were damp and sticking to her, and the material of her bra rubbed uncomfortably across her tight, puckered nipples.

Severus was now in the middle of righting his clothes back onto his body. His head was bowed, making his dark hair fall down over his face. When he finally looked back up, Hermione was shocked to find that Severus looked like a person who had been slapped in the face instead of one that just had a sexual encounter.

"Severus?" she asked timidly, crossing both arms across her chest as she began to shiver. Even though she was still aroused, Hermione felt a knot of tension form in the pit of her stomach. She didn't understand why the professor was now looking at her as if he was upset. "Sir?"

"Take your things and go, Miss Granger," he suddenly told her in a quiet voice.

Hermione let out a gasp, wondering if her ears were deceiving her. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me, Granger. Take your things and go!"

Hermione went numb with shock and disbelief. Once again, she felt hurt and angry, not to mention completely embarrassed, considering that she still had his come all over the front of her jumper.

"You cannot be serious."

"Do I sound as if I'm joking, Hermione? Either go back to your room, or go to the feast. Either way, get out of this classroom."

Hermione tried pushing herself up from the wall, only to feel her knees buckling beneath her. Snape was rooted in place, rigid as a beam that supported a roof. She might have been able to handle his rejection a bit more had he not been staring at her, and most definitely had his spunk not been all over the front of her clothes. Hermione continued feeling extremely self-conscious as she moved to retrieve her wand and phial of potion, only Snape made a noise that made her pause from wrapping her fingers around the crystal phial.

"Leave that behind; I'll take it to Slughorn. I told you, I don't want you roaming the castle alone at night."

Hermione wanted to point out that he was putting her out of the classroom, and that she would be making her way to Gryffindor Tower on her own, but thought it wise to keep such thoughts to herself. She truly didn't understand the sudden change in the professor's mood. One minute they'd been kissing and clutching onto one another, and the next, he was back to his old surly self.

And yet, her excited, fucking traitor of a body still wanted him to finish what they started.

It wasn't fair, it really wasn't. Hermione knew she was two seconds away from launching into a bout of frustrated tears. She knew Snape wouldn't care; why would he? If he could nonchalantly, well, there was nothing nonchalant about the way he'd spoken to her—he sounded completely pissed. But Snape spoke to her with anger colouring his voice, right after she just had her hand on his cock and his trembling body pressed against hers, and it threw her for yet another loop. If she didn't spontaneously combust from unfulfilled desires that left her aching to the point of torture, then surely her neck would break from the whiplash of the wizard's vacillating mood swings.

Or, he would just drive her crazy enough that she'd have to be put away, because there was no way she would last another round of being ignored, only to have attention lavished upon her, and then going right back to being ignored. There was but so much that she could take.

"Severus," Hermione said, trying her own brand of tactics for one last time, only for Snape to stalk over to her and wrap one hand around the cuff of her arm.

"Don't look at me like that," he hissed underneath his breathing, seeing the crushed look on Hermione's face. "Now do as I say and leave."

His hand wasn't tight enough to hurt her, yet his fingers gripped firmly enough that Hermione was unable to wrench free. Picking up her wand and leaving the phial as Snape direction, Hermione was then guided to the classroom door by the wizard. He wandlessly unlocked the door before tugging it open and ushering her outside without another word.

Hermione tried to not flinch when she heard the door slam shut. She was grateful that no one was out in the corridors, lest her rumpled condition. Blindly walked as angry tears filled her eyes, Hermione used her wand to cast a cleansing charm on her clothes, vanishing the remnants of the past twenty minutes. She now suspected that her hair was a mess from Severus pulling on it, but her curls always looked messy and it would have been pointless to try to smooth them over.

So much for her take-charge course of action. Things had sorely backfired against her, and Hermione was at a total loss as to what she should do next, if anything. At the moment, the only sensible idea she had was to not let anyone see her cry on the walk to the girls' dormitory. And by the time she made her way to Gryffindor Tower and gave the Fat Lady the password, her tears had finally dried.

* * *

_**If anyone of you took a feather out of Peeves' cap, I will be over here, ducking behind a shield of armor like the Knights of the Round Table from Monty Python's Holy Grail. Run away! Run away!**_


	17. Chapter 17

**_A/N: I'll run my mouth at the end of the chapter...:)_**

* * *

Severus Snape was out of sorts, and that was _not_ a feeling he was used to. Bitterness, anger, jadedness–those were all things he was accustomed to dealing with. But fact remained that he'd been lusting over a seventeen-year-old girl–one of his students– no less. He'd allowed his typically unyielding resolve to break, and it had been akin to toppling over a row of dominoes—knock over one, and the rest will surely follow.

He should have known that he would experience nothing but trouble when he slipped into the classroom with Hermione. He _did _know, and yet, it hadn't stopped him. And when he'd sent her away...he didn't think he would ever get the image of her crestfallen face out of his mind.

Hermione hadn't known it, but Severus followed her all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, wanting to ensure that she arrived safely. He made sure to fall more than a few steps behind, and not once did she hear him, nor did she turn around. He did see the way she kept lifting a hand to wipe her eyes, and was positive that she had sniffled the entire walk across the castle.

He never liked the Fat Lady, the pink silk-wearing portrait guarding Gryffindor Tower, ever since his time as a student, and made sure that she didn't see him. The last thing Snape wanted was for the painting, who had a terrible disposition for gossip, to go around telling the other paintings that the Slytherin Head of House was lingering near Gryffindor quarters. And it wasn't as if he gave a damn about Gryffindor or the other Houses for that matter, although, he would have boldly admitted to favouring Slytherin. But he truly didn't care for the Fat Lady nor the flighty portraits that consorted with her.

Once he made his way back across the castle and to Slughorn's office, as suspected, the older Potions master had been in the middle of a nap, and looked disgruntled at being disturbed. Slughorn opened his office door, bleary-eyed and wearing one of his ugly velvet dressing gowns and a matching nightcap. He hadn't even bothered to ask why Snape was the one dropping off Hermione's potion, as he was more concerned with shutting his door and resuming his sleep.

The abrupt exchanged hadn't affected Snape in the least. He wasn't one for idle chatter, nor did he wish to exchange pleasantries with the professor that had taken over his former post. It took all of five minutes to give Slughorn the phial; four minutes and forty seconds of which had been spent knocking and then waiting at his door.

Now Snape was back in his room, and he was trying to wrap his mind around the fact of what just occurred between him and Hermione. He had been sorely tempted to completely have his way with her, but her hand on his knob resulted in him exploding so furiously that it had befuddled his mind for a minute. Once he'd come down from the high of his orgasm, did the ramifications of everything hit him like a ton of bricks.

Snape realised that they had still been in the Potions classroom, and that Hermione was still his pupil, if only for a different class. She had looked nearly drugged with passion, and seemed that she had been intent on carrying on further, only Snape threw a wrench into her unspoken plans.

Yes, he was selfish; yes, he had already broken more rules than he cared to give thought to, but some part of him still wouldn't allow himself to carry on, not at the moment, at least. Besides, someone had to be the voice of reason.

Usually, Hermione was the shrill voice of reason when it came to her and her insipid friends, but it seemed that whenever she was with him, that all remnants of common sense flew right out the window. He didn't know what it was that made the girl abandon all sense of propriety, nor did he give a damn, especially when her bare skin felt so divine against his.

_Shit._

He remembered the way he spurted all over Hermione's jumper, although at the time, he had been too busy catching his breath to give it much notice. The witch had remained pressed against the wall, squirming in place as if she was trying to scratch a most uncomfortable itch. Quidditch brooms hadn't gotten as much attention from its rider compared to the way had Hermione straddled his leg, only to huff with impatience when it wasn't enough to tip the scales in her favour. It nearly sounded as if the girl was going to reach her release, only he met his first and fell limply against her when it was over.

_Bloody fucking hell._

Raising one hand to his nose, Snape found that he was still able to smell Hermione's scent lingering on his fingertips. Despite the foul scent of the potion he'd directed her in brewing, he had still been able to catch a whiff of her clean skin when his face was near her neck.

_Fuck._

* * *

It took Hermione a long time to calm down once she made it to Gryffindor Tower. Her knickers were completely saturated, and she felt hot and sticky all over. She was giving serious contemplation to going down to the prefects' bath, where she would definitely have privacy and hopefully would be able to relieve some of her tension, but after glancing at her wristwatch and taking in the too late hour, Hermione decided to remain in the dormitory.

After ridding herself of her damp clothing and changing into pyjamas, Hermione sat cross-legged at the head of her bed, distractedly trying to read a book. The feast in the Great Hall was still going on, and she was thankful for the silence in the room.

_Well, you did sort of instigate this entire thing, don't you remember?_

Grumbling to herself, Hermione had to grudgingly admit that she had been the one to first approach Snape. To this day, she still didn't know what had made her do so, but once she was in, she didn't want out. He made her time spent at Grimmauld Place bearable, which was a laugh if she were to step outside of the box and spare a glance at the entire situation. But it was true, and deep down inside, Hermione knew it had more to do than just the sex alone.

Although the sex was good..._better _than good, she wanted to slap him for sending her out of the classroom a mere hour before.

Hermione once heard the word 'frottage', and thought that it sound ridiculous, as if it were some sort of smelly cheese. Then she looked up the definition, and still didn't see how it would be better than direct contact.

That myth had been dispelled as she rode the top of Snape's leg, and her only regret had been that she'd worn trousers instead of a skirt. What with the brisk Scotland air that swirled around, seeping through the tiniest of nooks and crannies and settling in the old rooms of the castle, it was more prudent to wear thick layers. Still, Severus would have had more access to her body with such garments, and she wouldn't be in the predicament in which she now found herself.

Coming close to kissing Severus, only for him to pull back and go off in the other direction had been aggravating. Coming close to have him touch her again, only for things to end up one-sided was agony. Hermione felt very much out of her depths, as she wasn't used to feeling out of control of her own senses. While her senses–albeit a small part– plainly said that she and Severus shouldn't be shagging in an empty classroom while she was supposed to be doing schoolwork, a larger part of her mind would have offered very little protest had he tugged her trousers down to her knees to take her right then and there. At least she wouldn't be going to bed with her heart pounding intermittently each time she thought about the feel of his heavy cock in her hands.

Bringing her book up to her face and groaning in despair into its worn pages, Hermione never noticed the person walking up to the foot of her bed.

"Are you alright?" Parvati asked from between the bed curtains, her brown eyes wide as an owl's.

"Yes, I'm fine," Hermione told her in a fake cheery tone. "Just, you know, something I read."

"Oh...OK..." Parvati trailed off, frowning at Hermione as she walked over to her own bed. "I had to get away from Ron and Lavender." She sat down at the edge and kicked off her shoes, stretching her arms above her head before going through the routine of brushing and re-plaiting her hair like she did every night. "They started snogging, right in front of me. It was as if they'd forgotten I was right there! I didn't feel like seeing my chocolate gateau again, so I left them outside of the common room."

_Back on this again,_ Hermione thought, tossing her book down and fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "Parvati," she began in an exasperated tone, "if you put my name into this, fair warning that I'm just going to deny it. But do you know Terry from Hufflepuff? He's a Prefect in our year."

Parvati had just gotten to the end of her plait and was securing an elastic around the end when her hands paused. "Tall Terry? With the pretty hair?"

Hermione had one more urge to roll her eyes, and resisted. "Trust you to only notice his hair, but yes, that's him. Haven't you noticed the way he looks at you?"

"No...really?"

"_Yes,_ although I suppose you haven't noticed because you've been too busy watching Ron and Lavender kiss. Anyway, you should ask him to Hogsmeade at the weekend. I think you two would have fun."

"Really?" Parvati repeated, sounding completely flummoxed that someone had actually noticed her.

"_Yes, _really. Now maybe you'll stop moping around. You two can go to that stupid tea shop and kiss over a pile of scones."

Hermione wanted to laugh when she thought about Madam Puddifoot's tea shop and Harry's date gone bad when he and Cho Chang went. Even though it was a while ago, whenever one of the girls in their House mentioned going on a date at the tea shop, Harry cringed and did nothing to hide it. He told Hermione that if someone didn't mind sitting in a tiny room that looked as if it had become sick and thrown up generous amounts of little lacy things— which she pointed out were doilies— that they should visit, otherwise to steer clear. It had been all she could do to not laugh when he told her that he wanted to use his wand on the cherub that had flown too closely to his face, giving him an eyeful of 'happy cherub arse', as Harry put it.

Hermione had never really been the sort of frilly lace and bows sort. The tea or coffee shops she went to back home had been simple yet functional, and she could sit with a book while avoiding a face full of festive confetti. Just then she nearly screamed, thinking about her and Snape going to a tea shop, and having a cherub toss confetti at him. His appearance alone would probably scare half the guests, and then a well-timed sneer would send the cherubs scattering. Unless there was a bold cherub in the bunch that would hastily leave a handful of confetti hearts by Snape's teacup. Or throw some at him before flying away.

"Hermione?" Parvati asked, looking at her.

Hermione was in the middle of thinking about Snape picking heart-shaped confetti out of his lank, oily hair, while fighting back a laugh, and hadn't realised that Parvati was calling her name for the last thirty seconds. _I really must be going mental, going by the way I'm cracking myself up over here._ "I'm sorry; yes?"

"I was just telling you thank you, and then goodnight...but you sort of drifted off for a moment."

"Yeah, I've been doing that a lot lately. Just a lot on my mind I suppose. You're welcome, and goodnight." Hermione managed a weak smile for Parvati, who apparently was appeased, as she turned her back and crawled into bed and drew its curtains shut.

A few more of her housemates ambled into the room, each looking as if they'd stuffed themselves to the point of befuddlement, judging by the glazed look in their eyes. Even Ginny had little to say as she came into the room, yawning as she waved to Hermione.

Hermione had just set her book on her bedside table when the lights when out in the room. Everyone was already falling asleep, and she drew the curtains around her bed to do the same. Sliding beneath the covers and curling up on her side, she thought back to the way Snape had her pressed against the wall in the dungeon classroom. Right then she noticed that her back was a bit sore from the rubbly feel of the stones that abraded her skin, even through the thick material of her jumper.

Snape wasn't going to get off easy. There was no way Hermione was going to let him. She didn't know when or where, but they were definitely going to finish what they started.

* * *

"Hermione, wait!" Ron called behind her. "Where are you going?"

Hermione stopped in her tracks, spinning around to glare at her best friend. Harry stood next to him, and was also warily eyeing her as if he expected her to throw some sort of tantrum.

"The library," she retorted, angrily shuffling her rucksack to her other shoulder and continuing in the direction she started for.

"But I thought we were going to—"

"Just leave it, Ron," Harry said in a low voice. "I know how she feels."

The three had just left their Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Class had started off smoothly, yet when they all handed in their essays that had been assigned for homework the previous day, Snape had taken one look at Hermione's minute-sized handwriting, all cramped onto the full length of parchment. She had written more than was requested, and apparently it was enough for the professor to call her out on it.

The next incident was when Snape asked the class a question. As always, no one raised their hand. Hermione raised hers, and it stayed up so long Ron whispered to her if it was starting to cramp. Finally, when Snape called on her as a last resort, her answer had been too long, or too clinical-sounding, as he put, and that had been cause for even more of his snarky brand of berating.

It was more than Hermione could handle, and for the first time, she found herself grateful that a class had finished. Harry was well acquainted with Snape's biting remarks and tuned them out more easily, but Hermione, who received praise from mostly every other professor, still found it hard to become immune to. The fact that she had been intimate with the professor only added fuel to the fire.

The only place she could go to distract herself was the library, where it was bound to be empty. It was a Friday afternoon, and Defence had been their last class. Ron and Harry wanted to go to the Quidditch pitch, and cajoled Hermione into coming with them. Only after being embarrassed in front of her classmates, the only thing she could think about was getting away from everyone.

"I'll see you two later, maybe for dinner," she told the boys before walking off.

Hermione was still seething as she dropped down into one of the seats behind a small desk by the window in the library. Madam Pince, the vulture-like librarian, had treated her to one of her usual sharp glares as she walked into the room and past her book-cluttered desk, and even that had little effect on the already upset witch.

All that week, Hermione had been ignored by the professor. She didn't mind that so much. Yet when Friday came around, it seemed that the professor had either gotten out of bed on the wrong side, or had a personal vendetta against all students who weren't in Slytherin, as he took a gratuitous amount of House points from everyone, even before class had started.

The Slytherins snorted, while everyone reined in their annoyance, knowing that Professor Snape wasn't one to be trifled with. Hermione tried to reason with herself that the professor was under a lot of stress, yet it still didn't change the fact that she wanted to wipe the little smirk off his face by biting his upper lip. Or the lower, either didn't matter, so long as they were pressed against hers. But he really had been very difficult, and even she found it hard to stay optimistic.

Hermione now had several books in front of her, surrounding the small desk she was sitting at. Huffing as she pored over the notes she took for each class that day, she barely noticed the tall wizard hovering over her.

"Say, Granger, I thought that was you."

Without bothering to straighten the frown on her face, Hermione turned her head and looked up to find none other than cocky McLaggen standing there, leaning against the bookshelf. He looked as if he'd stepped out of a glossy magazine instead of a classroom, as if his uniform had been tailored to fit him like a suit for a formal event. She was half tempted to ask if he was lost, as she barely remembered his pretty face lurking among the library stacks.

_And there goes that perfect hair,_ Hermione sniffed inwardly, venturing a glance at his tidy, golden curls. She was so busy critiquing his fastidious appearance that she completely missed his question.

"I'm sorry—what?"

"Slughorn's do. I didn't think you were going with anyone and I thought I'd take a chance. Interested?"

_Oh you didn't, did you? Damn, I forgot about that party; I was going to ask Ron if he wanted to go, but Lav-Lav would probably have two coronaries and a stroke if I asked him. _"Sure, I'll go with you," she answered without putting much thought into her words, sounding just a tad brusque. The other part of Hermione saying yes, was more than anything for McLaggen to leave her alone so she could continue with her reading. His presence alone was distracting her.

"Alright then, Granger. I'll see you around." With that, he walked off in the other direction, swaggering with each step as if he was the king of everything.

"Idiot. He's an idiot, and _you're_ an idiot for saying yes," Hermione mumbled to herself as an afterthought once the sight of his pretty hair disappeared around the corner. But she figured there was no harm in going to the party with him. It would only last two or three hours at the most; surely she would be able to put up with him for such a short time.

_Damn!_ she inwardly swore fifteen minutes later. Nostrils flaring as she looked down at her book, Hermione realised that she had been staring at the same page the entire time, and desperately tried to regain her focus. McLaggen coming across her wasn't the only thing that had her usually undivided attention torn to shreds. The smirk on Snape's face in class had been enough to make her stomach churn nervously, and when he brushed past her desk, her insides did a complete somersault. It had been enough to almost make her lose her lunch. Hermione's only saving grace had been that it was the end of class, and her feet felt like lead as she trudged out of the room.

Now she had to deal with the prospect of avoiding McLaggen's unwanted stares for an evening. Hermione had briefly considered not attending the party when first invited, but knew that it would be rude. Besides, she had herself to think about, and her grades. If putting up with the sycophantic, walrus-mustached professor for a few hours worked in her favour, then so be it.

She hadn't liked the way that Slughorn blatantly disregarded Ron to talk to her and Harry. He did it when they were on the train, as well as when they were in the Madam Rosmerta's pub in Hogsmeade. Hermione had an idea of the sort of man Horace Slughorn was, and the very thought grated her nerves. Ron couldn't help where he came from, just like Harry couldn't, and it wasn't fair for anyone to be handpicked or ignored for something, based on their background. And while Ron might have been a bit on the lazy side, and like every other friendship, the three had their ups and downs, they came far enough to not let anyone treat the other shoddily.

* * *

It turned out that Ron wasn't all that disappointed at not being able to attend Slughorn's party. His biggest let down was that he wouldn't be able to sample all of the delicious food that was sure to be served. It was no big secret that Slughorn had a taste that ran to the side of ostentatious, and Ron pouted at the idea of not sampling some of the fine cuisine.

Ginny had grown tired of her brother's complaining, and promised that she would bring him some fancy sweets wrapped in a napkin if he promised to shut up. Ron had then grinned at his little sister, stretching out one long arm to ruffle her hair, and laughed when she hissed in annoyance.

The day of the party, Hermione had been ever so grateful for the privacy of the prefects' lavatory. Wanting to avoid the curious stares of her housemates, she took her time getting dressed and attempting to do something marginally different with her curls. No matter what she did, they refused to lie flat, and no amount of charms or hairpins could tame it.

Asking herself why she was even bothering , as she was only going with McLaggen, Hermione had then returned to Gryffindor Tower. Ron and Lavender were sitting in the common room, squished together on the sofa and looking quite cosy. Their giddy third wheel, otherwise known as Parvati, was nowhere to be found, and Hermione smirked, as she had an idea just where the witch was.

The Friday after Hermione had suggested to Parvati that she try and chat up Terry in Hufflepuff, the dark-haired witch hadn't wasted any time in reporting back that Terry was, in fact, interested in her, and that they were going to Hogsmeade together the next day. Hermione had been happy for her friend, but she was also knackered. She had practically ripped her clothes off, shuffled into her nightgown and crawled into bed, feeling as if she'd been run over. Hermione had spent most of her evening in the library, working on revisions. Her eyes were so sore they felt as if they'd been bleeding, and the last thing she felt like hearing was Parvati gushing over the Ten Things that Terry Told Me. Finally, when she refused to stop loudly chattering, Fay Dunbar, another of their housemates, spoke up across the room, and threatened to jinx her tongue in place if it would keep her from talking. Parvati had then giggled in that annoying way of hers, but she did stop talking, and Hermione was sure that the girl was laying there in bed, grinning up in the dark.

Lavender nor Ron complained about Parvati's absence, although the blonde witch did a double-take as Hermione stepped through the portrait hole.

"Are you going like that?" Lavender asked, two glaringly critical brown eyes roving over Hermione's form.

Hermione had to pause to look down at herself. There were no runs in her tights, and she had on heels that were high enough to lend a certain amount of dressiness to her outfit, yet not so high that she would be teetering around all night. Her party dress wasn't new; the deep rose-coloured garment had only been worn one, and skimmed along her collarbones and flared out just so at the waist. True, she had thrown her completely clashing school robes over the whole ensemble, but it was a long walk from the prefects' bathroom and Hogwarts became so cold at night...

"What do you mean? Like what?" Hermione bristled when she looked down and was unable to find anything that was out of place.

"Your hair! It's just—_there!_ And you don't have a stitch of makeup on, and I won't even mention your bare nails—"

"My fingernails are fine, thank you very much," Hermione shot back, "and I have on lip balm. That's all I need."

Lavender's laugh was light and tinkling as she threw her head back. Her long blonde curls were tossed back and forth as she writhed about, and Hermione was met with the strong urge to stomp over on her two-inch heels and soundly tug on the perfect shiny spirals.

"Where are you going?" Ron frowned when Lavender shoved his hand out of her lap and stood up.

"To help your friend!" she told him, tossing her hair back over one shoulder and walking to the staircase that lead up to the dormitories. "Well?" she paused, looking over at Hermione, "let's go!"

"If you hear screaming, and it doesn't sound like my voice, you'd better not send for help," Hermione spat towards Ron as she schlepped along, as if she were being led to a hanging instead of a semi-makeover.

"Sure thing," Ron grinned, putting both feet up on the sofa and stretching out with his arms folded beneath his head.

"I don't even know why you're bothering, Lavender," Hermione grumbled once they were upstairs.

Lavender had immediately shoved Hermione to sit down on her bed, before kneeling in front of her now opened trunk. While trying to figure out what the blonde was planning, Hermione peeked over to her own bed. Crookshanks was curled up and napping in the centre of her duvet, looking as if it was his bed instead of hers.

"I'm not that bad," Lavender was now saying, her voice muffled behind the thick leather lid of her trunk. "You act as if I'm going to chop off your hands."

Hermione had been staring down at her unvarnished fingernails. Surely Lavender was exaggerating. True, they held no colour other than her own skin tone, but they were neatly clipped and filed into rounded edges. Hermione did that, at least, as she was prone to scratching herself whenever her nails became too long.

"You're right— you're worse," she grumbled. "I don't even think the party is going to be for that long, and if it is, I'm only staying a couple of hours. I don't see the sense in making all this fuss."

"Any occasion, no matter how long it's for, is reason enough to primp," Lavender announced, the top of her blonde head popping up from the foot of the bed. She came over to Hermione, a small wooden box in her hands. Hermione was highly suspicious as she watched Lavender lifting the lid to expose a small, shiny leaflet, that had the name _Madam Primpernelle_ on the front.

"Honestly; can you be any more cliché?" Hermione half expected Lavender to pull out a Muggle bottle of bubblegum pink nail varnish, or worse, bright red lipstick. She sincerely hoped there wasn't any nail varnish in Lavender's box. The last time she'd tried to use it, the only thing she gained was smudged nails, because they took too long to dry, as well as a splitting headache.

"Well, where else do you think I'd learned my beauty charms from?" Lavender asked, her wand now in her right hand as she single-handedly pored through the leaflet with the left. "Well, my mum did teach me a few, and Parvati and I figured out some on our own, but— here! This is the one we need."

Hermione couldn't help the fierce scowl that suddenly upturned her face. "Lavender, you'd BETTER not make me look like a clown!"

"Relax, Hermione, I won't. I'll just use a few charms that are subtle enough. You don't seem like the sort that would do something too... out there."

Hermione craned her neck over to peer at the opened pages of Lavender's leaflet, coming across the page titled in fancy, swirling script: _Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Charm for the Bold and Beautiful-Not for the meek or faint of heart!_

"You're right— I'm not. I'd sooner gnaw off my own arm. Hmm, I wonder if that's the same charm that Gilderoy Lockhart used before the start of class each day?"

Both girls couldn't help giggling at remembrance of the extremely dapper yet highly daft professor, who seemed more concerned with his perfectly coiffed appearance, or doctored tales of adventure, than actually teaching.

"No...I bet he used this one," Lavender giggled, flipping to another page of the leaflet. This page read: _Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Charm for the Wizard That Wants to Look Like A Lord, Yet Spend Less Time Than It Takes To Conjure A Glass Of Water._

"Well, that's a mouthful," Hermione mused under her breath.

"Tell me about it," Lavender replied. "Now give me your hand and hold still."

"Lavender...nothing too bright. You know I don't like bubblegum, and I definitely don't want its colour on my nails."

"_Relax,_ Hermione. I know what I'm doing. Trust me, you'll love it."

With that, Lavender poked the tip of her wand to each of Hermione's fingertips, charming her nails the palest shade of seashell pink. When she finished the first nail, and Hermione grudgingly offered her approval, Lavender grinned, and finished charming the other nine nails.

"Now close your eyes," she directed after letting go of Hermione's hands.

"What for?" Hermione asked warily.

"Because you'll keep blinking if your eyes are opened while I point my wand at your face, so close them!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she did close them. All the while, she was praying that she wouldn't have to do some serious charm reversal before the party, and hopefully none that would require her to visit their Head of House, as she knew that McGonagall would pitch a fit.

McGonagall had made Parvati take out a butterfly hair ornament from the end of her plait when students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang visited for the Triwizard Tournament; surely she would have plenty to say about beautifying charms.

While Hermione sat nervously at the edge of Lavender's bed, trying to keep her heel-encased feet from slipping on the rug beneath them, she flinched slightly when she felt a gust of air brush over her arms. Lavender had evidently moved in front of her, her footsteps leading to where what sounded like her trunk again, before they came back.

"I actually like your hair," she said, something that shocked the spit out of Hermione. "But it's just..._there,_ and in your face."

"Well, what do you propose?"

"Hmm..." Lavender's chirpy voice trailed off.

Two hands suddenly came towards Hermione's head, and proceeded to twist and heft her curls around. She had to admit that Lavender's hands were gentle, and weren't trying to tug her hair out of her scalp, nor bend it into an impossible hairdo. It felt as if she was now twisting a bit of Hermione's curls back and away from her face, charming or pinning them into place with something. Lavender then did the same to the other side, and announced that she was finished.

"Do you like it?" she asked, handing her a small mirror.

Hermione was surprised by her own appearance. Thank Merlin and Circe, Lavender had actually done what she promised. Hermione didn't look painted beyond recognition, nor did she look like one of the less-than-savoury witches who skulked about Knockturn Alley in too-tight, too low-cut robes.

Her cheeks and lips had just a hint of colour, and her lashes looked full and framed her brown eyes. She refused to tell Lavender, but her favourite part was her charmed nails. Maybe if she felt like it, she would ask for the spell later on.

"Since your hair is back, you should put on earrings. And a necklace with that dress, if you've got one," Lavender pointed out.

"I do; thanks," she answered, handing back the mirror after taking one last look at her curls. Lavender had taken small sections of the curls that otherwise hung in on her face, and rolled and twisted them until the lie against her scalp. The twists were held in place by two small jeweled clips that glistened and sparkled whenever she moved her head.

"Perfume?" Lavender asked, twisting around to dig through her little box.

"No thank you; I don't really use it," Hermione replied, motioning for her to not bother.

"Alright then. You can keep the hair clips," Lavender offered once she turned back around. "They look better in your hair than they do mine."

"Thanks again, Lavender," Hermione repeated. She got up from the bed and walked over to her own trunk, digging out the small pouch that held the few pieces of jewelry she owned and only wore on special occasions. Dumping out a small pair of gold studs that had been a gift from her parents on her fifteenth birthday, along with a gold teardrop pendant, Hermione dug out her own mirror to appraise her reflection. She found that Lavender was right; the jewelry did look good with her dress and pinned back hair. She looked slightly older than her true age, and felt a bit more polished than she might had she had done the primping herself.

Pleased with her handiwork, Lavender gave Hermione one last look before humming in approval, and turning to walk out of the dormitory.

The only thing Hermione left to do was to dig out a shawl and throw it over her shoulders. She wouldn't have felt right wearing her school robes over her dress, even though they would offer more warmth. And Lavender would most likely have a fit for her wearing something so drab and shapeless over an outfit that was meant to be displayed.

"Behave while I'm gone, Crooks," Hermione whispered to the sleeping feline. She gave his head a gentle scratch, to which he returned with a lazy swish of his bottlebrush tail. She then closed the bed curtains completely, leaving her cat to snooze in peace.

"See you two later!" Hermione called once she finally went back down to the common room. "Try to leave each other's lips on," she said to Ron and Lavender, who were both going at it. Lavender was clearly the aggressor, and Hermione wanted to ask Ron if he was able to breathe, as his girlfriend's arms were practically choking his neck. The redhead seemed to have no complaints, but he did pull his face back from Lavender's long enough to tell her goodbye, and to remind her to tell Ginny to not forget his fancy biscuits from the party.

Shaking her head and righting her shawl over her exposed shoulders, Hermione walked through the portrait hole and out into the corridor. McLaggen said that he would meet her in front of the Fat Lady's portrait at eight o'clock.

The Fat Lady had left her frame, most likely to visit her friend, Violet, and the ornate painting's background looked odd without her sitting in it.

The corridor was quiet, and Hermione became lost in thought as she waited for her date. She wondered where Severus was, and how he was faring. While she was still cross with him for yelling at her and putting her out of the classroom, it still didn't change the way she felt about him. Nor would it stop her from worrying about him.

Hermione had done the math when Professor Slughorn first came to Hogwarts, and worked out that he was Head of Slytherin House at the same time Snape was a student. She wondered how Snape had done in his class, and then grew pensive as she thought about a teenage Severus Snape. What was he like? Was he always brooding and sarcastic? Or had leading a double life made him that way?

Ruminating over more unknown variables about her lover–if she could still call him that, as those details had become quite fuzzy– Hermione dug her wristwatch out of her handbag and frowned when she saw its face. By eight-fifteen, she found herself getting annoyed. She was a punctual person, and one of her pet peeves was someone being late.

"Oh! Looks like you've finally done something with that hair," the Fat Lady, who had now returned and looked rather lively, suddenly said, breaking Hermione out of her reverie.

"Err...thank you?" she replied, frowning. _For goodness' sake, my hair isn't __**that**__ bad! They behave as if I'm walked around with tentacles on my head!_

"It looks rather nice pulled back like that, dear. We can see your pretty face."

Hermione went from being indignant to chuffed, and her cheeks flushed pink. _Pretty_ wasn't a word she was used to hearing when it came to her, unless she counted her dad. _"_Thank you," she wistfully told the Fat Lady.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

"Yes; my escort for Professor Slughorn's party. He said he'd be here by eight, I can't imagine what's holding him up."

"Hmph!" the Fat Lady harrumphed, as if she was personally insulted on Hermione's behalf. "These young men; no sense of anything at all. In my day, if a gentleman said he was going to collect you at a certain time, then he stuck with it! I just don't understand these children nowadays."

Hermione began nodding in agreement. The Fat Lady had just drawn in another breath, ready to go deeper into her tirade when she noticed McLaggen further down the corridor. He had the nerve to be walking at a drawn-out pace, as if he were moving slowly enough to be admired, by who, Hermione knew not, because there was no one besides paintings in the corridors, instead of one who had their date waiting for the past twenty minutes.

"Alright, Granger," he greeted when he finally walked upon Hermione.

It seemed that McLaggen must have spent extra time primping, or he'd rushed doing so, because whatever fragrance he put on, it was cloying and stung her eyes, and threatened to singe the fine hairs inside of her nostrils. Hermione was cross and fidgety, and had half a mind to tell him that apart from his tardiness, his too-strong cologne was an insult to her nostrils and reason enough for her to not go anywhere with him. "You're late," she snapped, holding up her watch. "Do you have one of these? Or perhaps its broken?"

"Sorry about that," McLaggen replied dismissively as he held out his arm. "Ready?"

Hermione glowered at the wizard, but she still took his arm. She supposed that he definitely spent all of his time, and then some, primping, most likely putting Lavender's as well as Lockhart's regimen to shame. He looked so shiny and spiffy from head to touch that it seemed nearly criminal to touch him.

_Hair that perfect ought to come with a 'Do Not Touch' sign, _Hermione drolly mused of the perfect golden locks.

McLaggen seemed to forget that he'd been tardy, and went on to talk about himself at great length on the entire walk to Slughorn's party. Hermione had kept her head averted from his chest, trying to avoid the strong wafting cologne that seemed to regenerate with each step of McLaggen's perfectly pressed and sharp-creased trouser clad legs. She almost regretted accepting his invitation, especially when he began going on about Quidditch, and how it wasn't fair of Harry to pick 'that Weasley boy' over him.

Hermione quickly put an end to any bad-mouthing about her friends. McLaggen became sulky, yet Hermione was adamant that if he was going to behave like a cretin, then she would go back to Gryffindor Tower on her own.

McLaggen seemed to take the threat of attending a party on his own to be some great injustice, because he immediately fell back into somewhat better behaviour. When they arrived at the party, he gallantly offered to get Hermione some punch, and walked off in aims of the refreshments table.

"Hermione...are you here with who I think you're here with?" Harry asked. He'd caught sight of his best friend and walked over. Luna was with him, wearing some sort of odd-looking sparkly dress, although it didn't look odd on her.

"Hullo, Hermione," she said brightly. "You look nice."

"Thanks, Luna," Hermione replied, before looking back at Harry. "Yes, I am, and you'd better not say a word about it, either," she told him. "He already started in on you on the way over, saying that you only gave Ron a position on the team because of your friendship, so I told him if he was going to on about that all night, that I'd end our date right now."

"Oh, so that explains why he gave me a dirty look before skulking off in the other direction," Harry replied, sounding as though he didn't give a damn.

"Hmm. Where's Ginny?" Hermione then asked, looking around for the redhead. "Ron wanted me to remind her to not forget his fancy biscuits. As if he needs them."

Harry gave a snort, and jerked his head in the direction of an already bleary-eyed Professor Slughorn, who had one beefy hand wrapped around a goblet of what Hermione was sure wasn't pumpkin juice. Ginny was standing next to the professor, along with two other witches in fancy dress robes that she had never seen before, and she looked as if she wanted to do nothing more than get away.

Slughorn was obviously praising Ginny about something that Hermione couldn't make out, but it was obvious by the way he kept gesticulating towards her with his goblet, causing some of the liquid to slosh up and down the sides. He bore a wide grin beneath the walrus mustache, and with his free hand gave Ginny a small pat on her shoulder.

The two witches kept smiling politely and nodding their heads, although it was clear that they were trying to stay out of the way of Slughorn's freely moving hand that was wrapped around the goblet. When the third wave of liquid rose up and splashed out again, the two witches begged their pardon and quickly moved away, leaving behind Slughorn and Ginny.

Thankfully, at that same moment, Slughorn noticed someone else walking into his party and ambled away without another word. Ginny looked as if she had breathed a sigh of relief, just as her brown eyes caught sight of an amused Harry and Hermione.

"Some friends you are!" she bellowed after walking over to the group. "I thought the man was going to dump his entire cup on top of my head! He says he's drinking wine, but that did _not_ smell like wine."

"Sorry, Ginny," Harry chuckled. "Although we would have matched," he continued, pointing to a small damp spot of his black dress robes. "Slughorn went to shake my hand–I guess he'd forgotten that he had already shaken hands when I first came in, because he offered his a second time not five minutes after– only he gave me the hand that was still holding onto his drink. Nearly spilled the entire damn thing on my robes, too."

"Well, that's what you get for leaving me over there with him," Ginny sniffed. "Come on, Luna, let's go see what sweets that have before I have to kill my brother."

Luna dutifully trailed behind Ginny, and the two made their way through the crowd in search of Ron's fancy biscuits.

"So what happened; how did you end up with two dates?" Hermione teased.

"I still don't know. One minute, Ginny and I were talking about the party, and Ginny said that Luna would probably like to come, so we invited her."

"Oh, is that it? I thought maybe you were going to go into some story about how they both valiantly fought for your honour, and in the end you decided to bring them both."

"I'm sure your story about how you and McLaggen ended up here together is more colourful than that silly little one you just thought up," Harry chortled.

"Ugh, don't ask," Hermione grimaced. "He cornered me off, almost literally, in the library."

"Almost literally?"

"I was sitting in the corner, studying, when he found me. There was no place for me to go; it was either squeeze past him in that narrow space or jump out the window."

"Should've _Accio'd _a broomstick; at least you could have flown away."

Hermione had just swatted a laughing Harry on the arm when McLaggen came back over, holding to glasses of punch and bearing an unfriendly look when he saw the messy-haired wizard standing next to his date.

"Potter," he greeted with a stiff nod of the head.

"McLaggen," Harry shot back with a matching enthusiasm.

"Thank you!" Hermione interrupted, taking the punch from McLaggen. It was awkward standing between the two, and purely out of needing something to do, besides breathing through her mouth to avoid inhaling McLaggen's offensive cologne, she took a small sip of punch and began looking around Slughorn's office.

Whoever decorated the room had gone out of their way. Ornate and most likely expensive draperies and hangings covered the large space, giving the illusion of being inside of a lavish tent. Trays of food and drink were being offered by little clusters of house-elves, and lively music poured from one corner of the room.

McLaggen kept scowling, to the point that Harry was sorely tempted to tell him to build a bridge and get over it. Knowing that Hermione wouldn't want a fight to break out, he instead chose to find Ginny and Luna, and left the two still holding onto their glasses of punch.

Part of Hermione wished that Harry would stay behind, but she always knew that it wasn't fair to expect him to stick around when he had his own date. Of course, she wished that she had the forethought to stick cotton inside of her handbag, as her eardrums began bleeding and protesting with fortitude when McLaggen began telling her about his prowess when it came to Quidditch.

_Don't care. I don't care. Don't care about that either. Oh will you __**shut up**__ already?!_ Hermione fussed to herself. Purely out of the need to keep her IQ from dropping, she began reciting Potions ingredients in her head in alphabetical order. She thought it funny that she should think of that specific subject when there was so many others she preferred, Arithmancy being one of them, but perhaps it was her subconscious that made her think about where and from whom she had learned about said ingredients.

"D'you want to go look around?" McLaggen was now asking her. "We haven't moved from this spot since we've arrived."

"Oh, alright," Hermione replied. Anything that would keep him from yammering on, she was open to.

Unfortunately, McLaggen's idea of 'looking around' turned out to be a ploy to find a spot away from the other partygoers. No sooner than they were in a little curtain-covered niche of the room, did his hands immediately go around her waist.

"Don't be like that, Granger," McLaggen tried to sweet-talk. "You don't need to play coy with me."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione spat, wriggling out of his long arms and ducking back. She moved so suddenly that her back hit a velvet-covered wall, and although the surface had a thin layer of padding, it was hard and still hurt.

"I know that you shouldn't appear too eager, but trust me, I don't mind," he continued, now moving in close to keep her against the wall.

Hermione's eyes grew wide with shock. She still had her shawl wrapped around her shoulders, but even with the length of soft material covering the upper half of her body, she still felt naked with McLaggen's eyes practically burning through her clothes.

One minute, she was looking for an out to make an escape, the next, the burly seventh-year had boldly pulled her against him, and it felt as if his arms were _everywhere._ One hand was tugging on her hair, the other gripping onto the curve of her waist.

Stomach rolling with what could only be construed as revulsion, Hermione stamped her two-inch heels into the top of McLaggen's foot. He let out a muffled _oomph!_ but released his grip, and Hermione used that opportunity to get away.

She wasn't amused, to say the least, and she felt dirty. What in the hell gave McLaggen the idea that he could take such liberties? Had she somehow mistakenly given him the idea that his advances were welcomed?

Angrily huffing and puffing and she walked back to the crowded part of the room, Hermione vainly tried to fix her ruffled hair with trembling fingers. Her shawl had begun slipping off her shoulders when she fell back against the wall, and she took her time fixing it. Vowing to find Harry to tell him that she was leaving early, Hermione was so upset that she never noticed a pair of dark eyes watching her every step.

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**_A/N: SORRY that the lemon isn't in this chapter, like I promised, but part of me refused to post a 15k word chapter, I had to break it up. Sometimes my eyes start bleeding when reading a really long chapter. BUT the next one is done and I WILL be posting it tomorrow, short of the 9th Doctor and his TARDIS showing up in my backyard. and I'm awful because I've barely responded to any reviews, I'm soooo sorry, I still love you all and appreciate your support! Is everyone done with finals? Does anyone need a drink? A shoulder to cry on? I've been there, and I'm a pm away if you need to vent. Or if you want a congratulations for making all good marks, I'll be your cheerleader! _**

**_Promise I'll make up for the lack of lemon. Promise!_**

**_xx_**


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N: OMG an end of the world update! I'm sending you this update from the TARDIS, the (9th and 11th) Doctor swung by and said that he would rescue me. And guess what? He even has a lifetime supply of chocolate on hand. How lucky am I?**_

_**Alright, sorry, I'm being goofy. Here is the lemon that I promise, and I'm not done, muahahahaa *suggestive waggle of the eyebrows* *wink wink*. Thank for you for your patience, lovely reviews, ideas, favs, alerts, and by all means, feel free in continuing to do so! :D I eat them up like truffles! I still didn't get to reply to reviews, I am the worst, and I am sooooo sorry. But I did want to post this instead of making everyone wait, so if you start getting suggestive comments in your inbox from me...well, you've been warned. **_

_**And Merry Chrismahanukwanzakah to everyone! I hope you all have a lovely holiday. Of course my birthday is on Boxing Day (Dec 26), so maybe I can do an early update? It will be my own birthday gift to everyone :D**_

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Snape hadn't wanted to attend Slughorn's party. There were at least ten other things he could think of doing to better spend his time than hobnobbing with a bunch of sycophants that didn't like him. Of course, he didn't like them either, which wasn't a big surprise, considering they were the sort to fraternise with Slughorn.

But instead of spending a solitary evening down in his rooms in the dungeon, he had to follow behind Draco. All day, the blond looked more stressed than usual, and seemed to be on edge. Snape had tossed his goons, Crabbe and Goyle, into detention, and they were unable to do Draco's bidding. Snape noticed that even Pansy Parkinson hadn't spoken to him all day, whether it was by choice or because Draco told her to leave him alone, he knew not. Nor did it matter. In the middle of that, he'd been summoned to the headmaster's office, briefly conversing with Dumbledore before the white-haired wizard took his leave.

Snape knew for sure that Draco hadn't been invited to Slughorn's party, which was why he'd been curious to see why the wizard snuck off in that direction. But that damned Slughorn had been standing at the door and found Snape out in the corridors, his words slurring and he ushered him into his lavishly and irritatingly cheerful decorated office. Snape had ducked inside to keep Draco from seeing him, and he mentally cursed a drunken Slughorn as he allowed the older wizard to clumsily pull him inside.

Staying back in the shadows, which was hard, considering all of the faeries floating about, Snape furtively took in everything that was going on around him. Little knots of witches and wizards were gathering; drinking, getting drunk, and talking about things that most likely held little significance. A passing house-elf offered him a goblet of what looked like mead, and he refused. Just as he was telling the house-elf 'no', Snape noticed a smirking McLaggen leading a wary-looking yet more attractive than usual Hermione across the room.

Unbeknownst to the two, Snape had followed behind, far enough that he wouldn't be seen, but close enough that he'd been able to hear Hermione's loud protests when McLaggen obviously became too forward. Snape took great pleasure in hearing the uncouth young man bellowing in pain when Hermione did something to him. Seconds later, the fiery little Gryffindor came bolting out of the curtain-covered space, appearing livid and too upset to notice anything else around her.

McLaggen was still groaning when he came out of the small space. He was hobbling, even pausing once to lean against the wall and press down onto the top of his foot through his shoes. Snape had noticed Hermione's heels and then looking at McLaggen holding onto his foot, put two and two together.

_Good girl, _he thought of Hermione's actions. _Next time, aim for his manhood and sterilise the little shit._

Across the room, Hermione had found a place to hide another set of heavy draperies. Snape watched as Potter caught sight of his flustered best friend, and fought his way through the gauzy curtains to talk to her. Not five feet away, McLaggen had been stuffing his face with something that didn't look appetising in the least bit, when he noticed the two and began making his way over. Quick on the uptake, Hermione's face said it all as she quickly reached out to find an opening in the draperies before hurriedly slipping back out.

McLaggen's jaw was still moving like a cow chewing its cud as he spoke to an irritated-looking Potter. With Hermione gone, it was obvious that Potter didn't feel like talking to the boy, as whatever he was yammering about was further angering him, even though he was remaining silent.

Snape had been giving a message from the headmaster to pass on to Potter. While it could have waited until after the party, or even for the next morning, for that matter, he used the opportunity that currently presented itself.

Potter looked as if he wasn't happy to be approached by his least favourite professor during his leisure time, nor was Snape any more thrilled about the situation. However, Snape was appeased that he was able to use his presence to unnerve McLaggen, and he narrowed his dark eyes in disgust at the cocky boy, whose eyes had gone wide with fear beneath the scrutiny of the professor.

McLaggen had stopped chewing with he was stared down for a solid five seconds, and swallowed hard. The entire time, Snape was thinking of a way to punish the boy for his mistreatment of a certain Gryffindor witch, without seeming obvious, when the idiot turned green and vomited all over his shoes. Whipping out his wand and cleaning the mess off his boots, all without breaking eye contact with a visibly nervous McLaggen, Snape assigned him a month's detention and told the now stammering boy to get out of his sight, wishing that he'd given two months instead of one as he skulked away.

Once the jackass, otherwise known as McLaggen, had ambled off in the opposite direction, Snape delivered Dumbledore's message to Potter. He then lingered around Slughorn's office for another fifteen minutes or so. He had done his best to avoid socialising, and was nearly on his way back out of the party when Slughorn somehow managed to swoop in and scoop him up. To his displeasure, he had none other than Potter standing with him.

Snape grit his teeth as he was forced to listen to a hiccoughing and clearly even more inebriated Slughorn prattle on about how great Potter was in his Potions class, only adding as an afterthought that surely some credit should go to his student's former Potions professor.

The only thing that broke up the group was a snarling Filch carrying in a cursing Draco by the scruff of his neck. Snape was relieved that the caretaker had found his sleek blond-haired foul-mouthed thorn in his side, and promptly took charge of the situation. Slughorn butted in and tried to tell him that it was alright for Draco to remain at the party, but Snape would hear nothing of it. He escorted Draco out to the abandoned corridors, the sounds of music and chattering becoming dim as they walked further away.

By the time Snape finished lighting into a completely rude and unreasonable Draco, he sent the still sputtering wizard down to Slytherin common room, hoping that he would go straight there without any detours. Cursing underneath his breath, Snape was about to continue on his way to his own room when he got the feeling that he wasn't alone.

He then took all of two steps and found the one person he had been seriously trying to avoid.

Hermione had sprinted out of Slughorn's office when she cause a glimpse of black teaching robes that could only belong to Severus Snape. Her heart had immediately leapt into her throat, and her stomach did somersaults worthy of an Olympic gymnast. McLaggen had found his way back over to her, and between the scent of his cloying cologne and her already nervous stomach, Hermione feigned the need for some fresh air and abruptly left his side.

Finding what she thought was the perfect hiding place, which happened to be behind a large woven tapestry that hung was in front of a window, Hermione had been looking out of the frosted glass counterpane, unfocusedly staring up at the darkened night sky. She felt anxious from her entire evening and had already made up her mind that she was ready to call it a night, and decided to take a much needed quiet moment to herself before making her way back across the castle.

Just as she was about to slide out of her hidey hole, Hermione nearly wet herself when a firm arm shot behind the tapestry and wrapped itself around her waist, a slim hand with calluses also covering her mouth. She was literally yanked off her feet, the tips of her heels coming precariously close to scraping against the flagstones. She had been ready to scream the castle down, although with the hand firmly clamped down over her lips, the most she would have been able to do was mewl like a kitten, when she recognised the feel of the wiry arms around her.

"Granger," Snape hissed, tugging Hermione out from behind the tapestry and setting her on her feet. "Foolish girl, haven't I told you to _stop wandering around alone?"_

Hermione gulped nervously, shivering at the feel of Snape's hand that still remain on her wrist. She hadn't meant to leave Slughorn's party on her own, but after being felt up by McLaggen, and with the entire kerfuffle with Draco, all she wanted to do was take off her stupid shoes and go to bed.

McLaggen had scared her more than she realised. It wasn't the fact that he'd just tried to kiss her without her permission; his hands were strong, and nearly hurt as they pressed into her skin. While Snape was dominating, not once had he scared the hell out of Hermione to where she thought he would hurt her or try and take advantage of her. McLaggen had unnerved her to the point where she wouldn't have been surprised had he actually tried to take advantage of her, and she felt like an idiot for consenting to attend the party with him.

"What the hell are you doing going around with that whelp?" Snape suddenly demanded, as if he were able to read Hermione's thoughts.

"He asked me, and I accepted," Hermione feebly offered. She looked down; Snape was still holding onto her wrist. "Not one of my best ideas."

"An understatement, I think we can both agree," he replied in a sour tone. "You're going to need to do better than that, Miss Granger. I might not be around the next time should another wizard put his hands where they aren't wanted."

Snape's words slowly sunk in, and Hermione looked up, wide-eyed with shock. "What?"

"Let's just say that the little idiot is going to be mucking Thestral stalls with Hagrid and helping Filch clean the castle for the next thirty days—without magic" he told her. "I should have made his detention longer."

Hermione's mouth fell open. She didn't know what to say.

"I trust you to keep your mouth shut," Snape continued, unwrapping his long fingers from around Hermione's wrist before turning to walk away.

"Wait, Professor," Hermione said. "Are you– does this mean you're no longer angry me?"

Snape had just lifted one foot to walk off when he stopped, pausing and turning back to look down at Hermione. Even through the dimly lit corridor, he was able to notice the subtle changes by way of beauty charms on her face, all of which enhanced rather than overpowered her delicate features. Her hair was still wild, although it was pinned back instead of hanging in her face. The shawl that had been wrapped around her shoulders earlier was now drooping down and supported by the crook of her elbows, and the line of her collarbone was exposed.

Angry was something that Snape was not, at least, it was not directed towards Hermione. He was angry at himself, once again, because he was more than tempted by the sight of her. While her party dress wasn't particularly revealing, it exposed just enough of her throat and chest for him to become enticed and want to see more.

It was obvious that Hermione was a bit apprehensive, as she swallowed nervously while staring back at the professor, waiting for an answer.

"No, I'm not angry with you," he finally answered in a quiet voice.

"Then why do you keep pushing me away?"

"Miss Granger, this is hardly the appropriate time or place for such a conversation," he said warningly.

"Then perhaps we should find somewhere more appropriate," Hermione replied, unperturbed.

"Absolutely not. Either go back to the party with your little friends, or go to your dormitory."

Hermione exhaled shakily, and began fixing the fallen pile of her shawl back around her exposed shoulders. "I'm tired of this," she sadly told him. "I don't know what I'm doing, nor do I know what I'm supposed to do. Or feel. I only came to this stupid party with McLaggen because he asked me when I was distracted– distracted because of _you. _Because no matter what I do or where I turn, you seem to remain on my mind."

The more Hermione talked, the further her angst turned to anger, and it enflamed her even more when Snape continued looking at her with that familiar and damnably cool disposition.

"Why am I telling you all of this? You obviously don't give a damn, and I've made a fool of myself more times than I care for one evening. Maybe you're right; I should go to bed."

"You really are a silly girl; led around by your own emotions instead of thinking things through. _Think,_ Miss Granger, and stop assuming. Just as I have told you before, I will not give you all the answers; you will have to figure them out on your own."

Hermione's evening had quickly gone downhill ever since McLaggen lured her into a corner to feel up her, and the last thing she was in the mood for was figuring out some super secret Slytherinesque riddle.

"_Damn_ it! At the very least you could stop talking in circles," Hermione fussed. "You've already been turning me away at every chance, perhaps you could kindly _not _confuse the hell out of me anymore?"

"Well, Miss Granger, apparently that snappy little mouth of yours is able to do more than regurgitate the pages of a book," Snape silkily retorted.

"If memory serves me correctly, it did other things that you had no complaints about," she taunted right back.

Snape's dark eyes instantly narrowed, and Hermione suspected that she struck a nerve, but she was too far gone with anger to care. The one person that she wanted attention from had left her out, high and dry, and the last person she wanted attention from had practically forced it upon her. If she didn't know what irony was, then that had to be it.

"Is it really too much for me to ask for things to go back to how they were before?" Hermione asked, almost pleadingly.

"Fine; forget it," Hermione dismissed when Snape didn't answer her. "Forget that I've said anything."

Snape had been on the brink of telling Hermione to stop being so dramatic, ready to ask her what else did she want him to do, when footsteps began echoing further down the hall. Within the span of a second, Snape hauled Hermione back off her feet, hissing in her ear for to be quiet, as he rushed them across the corridor and into a little enclosure that he knew for fact was invisible to anyone else should they pass by.

Sound, however, still carried out through the narrow, darkened area, and he had to tell Hermione again to keep her mouth shut.

Hermione forgot how fast Snape moved, and was amazed by the way he'd bodily lifted her off her feet and carted her with remarkable speed down the corridor. But once the awe wore off, she remembered that she was still mad at him, and had to fight back the urge to kick him shin with the toe of her pointy shoes.

Unfortunately, her body didn't know that it was supposed to agree with Hermione's mind and also be upset with the professor. His hand was just below her chin, and it was enough to her to catch a whiff of his familiar scent, and immediately it clouded her senses.

Had it been anyone else, Hermione might have told them to sod off, but one didn't tell Severus Snape to merely sod off, especially when taking into consideration the reason for his avoidance of her.

"Do you think you can control yourself? Or do you intend on carrying on like some deranged harpy?" she heard him ask in a placid voice that was right above her ear. His soft tone sent a shiver down her spine, and Hermione slumped back against the wall.

"Yes, I'll behave," Hermione agreed, sounding a bit breathless. "Although I don't see the point; all you're going to do is yell at me like last time and send me away."

Snape heard the wavering in her voice, and exhaled deeply. "You know why I sent you away, so don't play the wounded one with me." Hermione harrumphed in annoyance at that remark. "I don't regret sending you away, however, I will concede that I could have done so more tactfully."

"You've got that right!" Hermione blurted out in the quietest tone possible. If this was the closest thing to an apology that she would receive from Severus Snape, then she would grudgingly accept it. It still didn't mean that she wasn't upset with him.

"You will control your tongue when speaking to me," Snape suddenly said tightly, firmly grasping Hermione's chin between his long fingers and tilting her face to look up at him. "I'm still your professor."

Although Hermione defiantly stared up at Snape, never once wilting beneath his penetrating eyes, her heart beat a drum in her chest and her knees were threatening to give out at any moment.

"Yes, Sir," she stammered when she was finally able to speak.

"Be on your way, then."

"No."

_"No?"_

"That's right, Severus– _no._ Not until..."

"Until what?" he spat, now sounding as if he were rapidly losing patience. "Girl, do you even have an _inkling_ of what will happen should anyone become aware of this?"

"It'll hit the fan, I know that. But in for a penny, and all that. And besides, I told you, no one is going to find out. I'm not going to tell! Why won't you believe me?"

Hermione knew that she sounded desperate, and probably dancing on Snape's last nerve, but she was so far gone with dealing with his arbitrary moods that it forced a newfound boldness to rear its head.

Snape found himself grinding his molars. At the rate he was going, which always seemed to coincide with a certain tenacious Gryffindor's presence, he would undoubtedly be finding his way to Madam Pomfrey for some sort of tooth mending potion to rebuild his enamel.

Like hell he would; he had been Hogwarts Potions master for how many years? He would brew his own damn potion. But he could think about that later.

Right now, his other curly-headed thorn in his side was looking up at him, as if she were trying to decipher what was going to happen next. The look on Hermione's face clearly stated what she wanted, either to kiss him or slap him, perhaps both, but Snape knew that he had to turn her down, once again, and inside it was tearing him apart. Although, she could keep the slap. But he hadn't forgotten the feel of her hand moving over his cock from their last tryst in the classroom. Whenever he passed by the damn room, he thought about it. And all it solidified was that he should have never been inside the classroom with Hermione on that Saturday evening.

The sudden thought of Hermione, naked and in his bed, sent his blood running hot, and Snape had to stand back lest she find that he was more than amenable to him taking her again.

"Miss Granger," he began, almost menacingly as he leant in closer to Hermione's face. "Go back to Gryffindor Tower. Take off those shoes, which I know are hurting your feet, and put on those ugly pink slippers of yours. Play with your demonic familiar you call a cat. Or go back to the party and mingle with the rest of those brownnosers. Whatever you do, just know that I won't be involved."

Hermione secretly admitted to herself that her feet were aching by now, but it still wasn't enough to send her to Gryffindor Tower. And while Snape kept telling her no, which Hermione suspected was purely out of propriety, she didn't want him to leave without having something on a personal level to remember him by.

"Well, the very least you could do is kiss me before sending me on my way," Hermione told him. "Considering the way you tossed me out of the classroom with your issue staining my jumper."

Hermione sounded so crafty, that Snape smirked in spite of himself. "Guileful, aren't you? No matter what I say, you are clearly intent on having your way."

"I might as well have what I want," Hermione replied unrepentantly. "Let's be honest, nothing is promised with the way things are going, and I might as well be happy while I can."

"Happy? Fine words for a young witch that has yet to see a sliver of what life has to offer. Just remember, Miss Granger, that there is a price for everything, and the Ferryman always comes to collect his fee."

"My goodness, Severus!" Hermione frowned. "It isn't as if I'm asking for your soul; I just wanted a measly kiss. But I guess nothing ever is simple with you, is it?"

_Simple?_ he thought. Now that idea was laughable at best. _Simple_ had never been a word in his vocabulary. In fact, Snape always expected everything to have the complications of Muggle rocket science if he were involved. Even this entire fucking situation with the very student before him was complex, and not just because he wanted to lift the dainty skirt of her pink party dress up, do away with her knickers, and shove his way into her body.

Hermione had just made another mewl of protest when Snape moved in closer to her. "Be quiet, you little irritant," Snape growled, before covering Hermione's mouth with his. She let out a squeak of surprise, one that soon melted off into a content-sounding sigh.

Hermione couldn't stop the little moans that escaped from her lazily moving lips. Severus felt good pressed up against her. Strands of lank black hair tickled her face, and Hermione could smell the bare but familiar scent of his skin. Thanking the heavens that Snape didn't douse himself in nauseating cologne, unlike another idiot that she refused to give thought to, especially while kissing another wizard, Hermione was so beside herself that she had to bury her head into the patch of skin beneath his jaw just to pay homage to the area.

It almost seemed surreal that Hermione was..._snogging_, was the best description, her professor, right in some hidden and darkened alcove that she had never noticed previously. Even more mystifying, was the fact that Snape was eagerly kissing her back.

"You are a little rats' nest-headed inconvenience, do you know that?" he whispered against her lips, his prominent nose brushing against hers while long fingers curved around and stroked the column of her neck. While his words should have been insulting, Hermione wasn't insulted, for she was able to feel Snape's unmistakable erection pressed against the front of her thighs.

Hermione's shawl had fallen back down when she went to wrap her arms around Snape's neck. As usual, he was towering over her and no doubt had a perfect vantage point of the tops of her breasts through the gaped neckline of her dress. He had just begun to skim those nimble fingertips along the delicate line of her collarbone when Hermione suddenly grew angry as his words soaked in, and she lashed out at the professor.

"I'm an inconvenience? _You're_ the bloody inconvenience! Leaving me back at bloody Grimmauld Place without a hint of a goodbye, and then ignoring me ever since coming back to Hogwarts!"

With each sentence, Hermione began to beat her clenched fists against Snape's black-suited chest, and the heel of her palm smarted when she struck one of the hard buttons. She wasn't hitting hard enough to hurt him, but her strikes clearly conveyed her anger. On top of it all, she was mad at herself for acting like a prissy, spoilt witch, but at the moment, her actions seemed quite reasonable.

"Kissing me and then putting me out like that!" Hermione went on, now completely flustered by the angry tears that sprang up in her eyes. She thought that she'd been doing a marvelous job at controlling her emotions when it came to the professor, but now that he was in front of her, it seemed that every instance of him upsetting her, and then her tucking it away at the back of her mind as if she really hadn't been all that bothered, finally came to a head. Previous experience told her that Snape seemed to house all the sensitivity of a sheet of sandpaper when it came to emotional outbursts, and that it was futile to even shed a single tear in front of him, but Hermione was helpless to stop them from pouring down her face.

She felt like an idiot. Hermione had previously told herself, time and time again, that consorting with the professor would only lead to trouble, and that if they kept carrying on, that it would be anything but conventional. But the last thing she expected was the yo-yoing of her emotions. She didn't think Snape was purposely trying to hurt her, at least, she hoped that was the case. Yet his constant dismissal of her had cut like a finely-honed blade, and each time he continued to ignore her, if felt as it salt had been poured on the wound.

Now she was still standing between Snape and the wall. He hadn't once grabbed her hands or tried to stop her from hitting him. Hermione finally stopped her assault of his person, clutching onto the sides of his teaching robes to keep her body from trembling.

Sure that she looked a mess from crying, Hermione kept her head lowered. Even though there was scant light where she and Severus were standing, Hermione wished that her hair wasn't pinned back, because she would have been grateful to hide her face behind it. Whatever charm Lavender had used on her eyelashes, surely the effects gotten all mucked up by her waterworks, and Hermione knew that she probably resembled a raccoon.

Snape remained quiet throughout her entire outburst; it was a miracle that no one heard her and came running. Thus, she was shocked to the nines when Snape moved both hands up to her face and brushed away the remaining tears with his thumbs. She half expected him to embarrass her, or even worse, walk away because of how she just acted, which would have been more embarrassing than him berating her for crying.

Hermione finally stopped crying and had just taken in a shuddering breath when she felt Severus' lips back upon hers, but this time they moved more gently.

She hated feeling like this. It felt as if every one of her senses were spinning out of control, leaving behind this confused and mentally-discombobulated witch in its wake. Worse was the fact that Hermione was unable to _not_ kiss Snape back, unable to leave him alone because she was scared she would never again feel the way she did when she was with him. She had a feeling that were she to actually heed the professor's warnings and steer clear of him, that never again would she intimately know him. Those feelings were what kept her coming back, even after he repeatedly told her no, and it was the very thing that now made her try to ensnare him with her arms and legs, causing them both to topple backwards onto the rough stone wall.

Between her vacillating emotions and the drafty corridors, Hermione found herself still trembling, despite Severus' warm body pressed against her front. While her school robes would have undoubtedly looked ugly over her party dress, and surely would have garnered Lavender fussing at her, Hermione wished that she had worn the stupid things, as her shawl did little to protect her from the cool air.

Severus seemed to understand that Hermione's shivering had more to do with her coming down from her tantrum, because he pulled back from her, shrugged out of his voluminous teaching robes, and draped them over her exposed shoulders.

"Thank you," Hermione murmured, appreciatively soaking in Snape's residual body heat that still lingered in the finely spun wool. His teaching robes were ridiculously long and pooled at her feet, and probably looked more silly than her own student robes would have, but they were warm.

"You look nice this evening."

Hermione's mouth fell open at the compliment, but she quickly recovered and came back with, "Looked, I think is more like it, but thank you. Lavender did it."

"Oh yes, Weasley's simpering blonde paramour. However do you share a dormitory with her and her giggling, daft sidekick?"

Hermione gave a feeble laugh at that. Snape said the damndest things when it came to her best friends as well as the other students, and while his remarks weren't polite, they were always spot on.

"I read. Or I cast a Silencing Charm and ignore them."

"Hmm."

Snape was now looking curiously at Hermione, and she wished that she was able to tell what he was thinking.

"Sir?"

"Not another sound. Do I make myself plain?"

Taking Severus' words to heart, Hermione nodded her head, eager to see what he was going to do. His lips captured hers again, and Hermione had to work at not releasing so much as a moan. Snape pushed her back to remain flush against the wall, and Hermione threw her arms around his neck, eagerly trying to keep him close as they kissed. She hoped that he wouldn't stop when she slipped her tongue past his lips, yet Snape merely reciprocated, and lazily slid his own tongue around hers.

Hermione's fingers had gradually begun digging into his shoulders, then moving to clutch onto the small lapels on either side of his tightly tied cravat. Severus' much sought-after kisses were enough to reduce her legs to jelly. She was literally struggling with herself to remain upright, yet when Snape's hand moved up to the front of her dress and cupped her right breast, Hermione literally pushed herself into his hand, wanting more.

A scream of frustration became lodged in her throat when Snape took his hand off her breast. Hermione thought the wizard meant to put a halt to their activities and move away from her, when he suddenly moved her hands from his collar and gently forced her arms back at her sides.

Hermione knew that Severus told her to not make a sound, and she aimed to stick to his instructions, but it didn't stop her from wantonly looking up at him, silently willing him to continue touching her.

"Could it be that I have actually found a way to silence the Gryffindor princess?" Snape murmured, his lips inches away from Hermione's face.

Tilting her face up for him to kiss her again, Hermione bit down on her lip, becoming riled up once more. Snape's hands were still on hers, and he was now turning them to lie palm down against the wall. He then slid his hands up to her wrists, while kissing Hermione one last time. Becoming so enthralled with the feel of his lips, she never noticed the unfamiliar murmured incantation that became lost against her skin, but it soon became evident what the incantation was for.

Hermione had gone to put her hands back on Snape's shoulders when she found that they were bound to the wall by use of magical and invisible means. Breathing hard out of nervousness, even though Hermione knew that Severus wouldn't actually hurt her, the idea of the unseeable fetters around her wrists made her heart thump erratically.

"Remember what I told you," Snape said, before sliding both hands down the front of Hermione's dress, stopping when he reached the hem. Yanking the fabric up and securing the ends behind Hermione's backside, using her weight to hold it into place, he then slid both hands along her hips and into either sides of her tights and knickers, slowly slipping them down her thighs. His lips were at her cheek throughout it all, pressing light kisses into the area, and his warm breath made her skin prickle.

Hermione was now exposed from navel to knee, with Snape's teaching robes and her shawl still awkwardly draped about her form. Trying to ignore the cool air touching her front, and the fact that her bare arse was rubbing against his wool robes, it being the only thing between her and the cold stone wall, Hermione's legs jerked as though a flame had been set to her skin when Snape ran his hands down the front of her thighs.

Up and down the callused hands moved, until Hermione was straining against his touch. The sensation of him kneading her flesh was nearly enough to make her abandon all common sense and moan like a person that had lost control, but she knew better. Besides, she didn't want them to get caught.

Her case wasn't helped when Snape began caressing her inner thighs, his fingertips working firm circles into her warm flesh. If he moved a bit higher, his knuckles would be brushing against the patch of soft brown curls covering her sex.

While Hermione couldn't move her arms, she could still move the rest of her body, and she impatiently wriggled beneath Snape's caresses, beckoning him to go higher. The bastard had the nerve to smirk at her, a look Hermione was well acquainted with, even in the darkness.

Hermione returned his smirk with a glare of her own, and it plainly said that he'd better stop mucking about and touch her, or else. Had she been able to actually utter the sentiment, Snape would surely tell her that he wasn't going to be ordered about by the likes of her, yet that wouldn't have stopped her.

Still, she was nearly on the edge of tears when Snape suddenly stooped down in front of her. He could have been resting on knees or merely balancing himself on the balls of his feet; she couldn't tell. All Hermione could register was the feel of long fingers brushing against the curls at the top of her cleft, dipping down to trace along the seam of her outer labia.

Sliding down against the wall and supporting herself by clenching her thighs, Hermione repositioned herself on her heels and tried exposing herself more. Apparently it had been the right thing to do, as Snape curved one hand over her mound, allowing the heel of his palm to lightly graze the hood of her clit.

Hermione's hips jerked at the contact, and she cursed inwardly when her heels scraped loudly against the uneven floor. It had been far too long since she had experienced a release of her own, and she knew that if Snape kept carrying on the way he was with his palm, that she would come in a matter of seconds.

The wizard seemed to have other ideas, because he moved his hand, and that made Hermione bite the inside of her cheek to keep from verbally protesting. Needing to grab onto something, Hermione remembered that her wrists were bound, and settled for two awkward handfuls of roughly misshapen stone wall.

Moisture had already begun trickling down her inner thigh, and Hermione was unable to keep her hips from gauchely rolling and twisting about. Severus was now toying with outer pussy lips, tugging on them and spreading her apart, allowing cool air to brush against her rapidly moistening core. It was almost too much for her sensitive clit, even though he had yet to actually touch it. Yet that little move made her walls begin to thrum and pulsate, and Hermione angled her hips once more for Severus to properly touch her.

The entire time, Hermione had her face turned away, her cheek smashed against the cold wall. She couldn't look down. She would see Snape's head inches away from the juncture of her thighs, and it would make her do something she'd regret. Even so, she was seconds away from breaking Severus' rules, ready to tell him to touch her, lick her, something, _anything,_ so long as it stopped the gnawing ache that had now taken over her body.

Right on the verge of screaming, Hermione felt Severus use two fingers from each hand to peel back her labia, forcing her clit to poke up and out. Sinking her teeth further into the soft skin of her cheek, Hermione nearly broke skin when she felt warm air being blown across the sensitive bud, followed by the warm lapping of a rough, wet tongue.

It was too much for her to handle, at the same time, not enough.

Snape's lapping tongue was followed closely by him planting his entire hot open mouth over her flesh. His tongue searched out and probed her entrance, and his teeth scraped against her clitoris. It was nearly too much, and still, Hermione wanted more. Dimly aware that she was literally riding Severus' face and probably smearing her juices all over his cheeks and lips, some depraved part of her became further aroused by that thought, and it sent another tremor throughout her body.

Hermione wanted to keep still but was physically unable to do so, thrashing about to the point that Snape moved one hand from between her legs and placed it on her abdomen, keeping her firmly pinned in place. The other hand kept her nether folds separated, where he greedily licked and sucked at her as if he'd been longing for it.

Still chewing on the inside of her cheek, Hermione desperately fought to keep her moans at bay, but at the rate Severus was going, it was a pipedream at best.

_Don't scream, don't scream, _she mentally willed herself.

A few choice, or rather, childish, words to describe Severus rose up and became lodged at the back of her throat. _Git, tosser, wanker. _Had he not bound her wrists to the damn wall, Hermione could have at least used both hands, as she was sure it would take both, to muffle the screams that were threatening to spill past her lips. Over and over, she told herself to not scream, to not make a noise, that someone would surely hear and things would go to hell in a hand basket.

Her self-coaching, however, was short-lived, as incoherency soon kicked in, making Hermione gasp sharply as she became further insensate to everything except pleasure. Silently swearing as Snape's nose continued brushing against her pubic hair, Hermione attempted to vow to stay completely quiet one last time, when his thin lips completely latched onto her clitoris. She felt the vibrations of a low moan from his throat become lost into her skin, and her knees buckled. After that, all it took was a few mere tugs of her clit, which was still entrapped by his lips, combined with another deep, sensuous-sounding moan from the back of his throat, and the tip of his tongue lashing deliciously against the most sensitive part of her body, and Hermione forcefully exploded against Severus' mouth.

She'd stopped biting on the inside of her cheek, going for her bottom lip right as she felt the strong spasms begin, and had she been able to focus her attention on anything else, Hermione might have felt her top teeth breaking through delicate skin and drawing blood as she struggled to keep from crying out. The dainty pink fingernails that Lavender had so graciously bestowed upon her were now gone, thanks to her literally clawing at the wall as she lost control of her body. A few of her longer nails had actually bent and snapped off completely, leaving her with jagged edges, but she didn't even notice that. The only thing Hermione could focus on was the sweet waves of pleasure that completely robbed her of all coherency, lingering for a few sweet, agonising seconds before fading off into a gentle pulsating that left her weak and trembling from head to toe. Her party dress was now damp and sticking to her skin, and had it not been for the invisible manacles around her wrist, Hermione would have fallen to a heap at Snape's feet.

Hermione swore that she could still feel Severus' tongue lapping at her flesh, even after he'd stood back up and leaned against her. When he finally used the counter spell to free her hands, he immediately pulled Hermione's trembling body against him before she had the chance to completely slide down the wall.

Snape's erection was more prominent than ever, and Hermione slid one shaky hand down his chest, in aims of pressing it against the front of his trousers, when he caught onto her wrist and held it in place.

"Not here."

"Then take me with you," she mumbled, her words muffled by the woolen material of his frock coat. Hermione was still breathing hard, and had her face buried in Snape's chest, needing nothing more at that moment than to be close to him. She felt overwhelmed yet relieved by an intense climax, but found that she didn't want it to end. "Please, Severus, don't leave me like this. Not again," Hermione continued, tilting her face to look longingly up at him.

Severus said nothing as he brushed his lips against Hermione's. She noticed that his face was dry, as if he'd wiped it before rising, but still she was able to taste her musk on his tongue, and found that she didn't mind.

"Do you want me to beg? Because I will, as stupid as that sounds."

Hermione could have searched high and low at the moment for a damn to give, and not one she would have found. She didn't care if she sounded whiny or needy, so long as it entailed Snape taking her back to his rooms with him.

"I'll need to do something about your shoes first," he finally replied. "We can't have you tapping your way across the castle and announcing your presence."

"Alright," Hermione replied, raising her head from his chest and standing up straight. When Snape had pulled her up from the wall, the skirt of her dress fell back down over her legs, but her knickers and tights were still halfway down her thighs. Now that Hermione was more coherent, she realised that Severus' teaching robes and her shawl had become twisted into a mishmash of fabric around her shoulders, and that both garments were sliding off her body in opposite directions, as if they were running away from one another.

Severus thought nothing of reaching beneath Hermione's dress to pull her tights and knickers back into place. Hermione didn't even bother reminding him to be careful of the flimsy stockings, and to pull them up just so as to not cause runs. Honestly, he could have ripped the cursed things off of her and she wouldn't have uttered a peep.

Once the rest of her clothes were sorted, Snape flicked his wand at her feet and then tapped it at the side of her head.

"Make sure to keep up with me," he said. "If I stop, you stop. I don't think I need to remind you to remain quiet."

Hermione shook her head as she felt a cool sensation trickling down and spreading over her body, and immediately knew that Snape cast a Disillusionment Charm on her. All it took was a short nod of his head before he began walking, and Hermione eagerly followed, clutching onto the voluminous folds of material she was dragging about.

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**_I believe I have some e-spankings due to me...and I've come to collect! Hehe, come. Someone finally came._**


	19. Chapter 19

**_A/N: I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry! I had every intention of doing my regular Thursday update, and then between the holiday and my birthday and then my mother's birthday yesterday, the days just ran away from me! But I hope everyone is having a nice holiday and thank you so much for the birthday wishes! :D _**

**_I've finally begun replying to my reviews that I am EVER so grateful for, I cannot stress this enough, as they are the only way I can hear what you all think. So if you're new to the fic, don't be shy! I love chatting with everyone, plus, I get to see your stories and read something new! ;) _**

**_And for anyone that wants to know, I finally got my three-layer all chocolate cake for my birthday (I've been nibbling on it as I edited this chapter, hope I got all the kinks out) and as a gift to myself I got my nose pierced. Fuckers didn't tell me that they use a LONG needle to do the job, and my niece, nephew, and wonderful other half all recorded me on their phones getting a new hole in my head. They kept mocking me for two hours, saying that when I saw the needle I kept going "Oh my god! OH MY GAWWWWWWD!" They are so mean._**

**_Okay, I'll shut up now. Please enjoy! _**

* * *

After experiencing a forceful release that very nearly made Hermione pass out, it seemed almost prosaic to have to hold onto the ends of Severus' robes to keep them from dragging as they quietly made their way across the darkened corridors of Hogwarts.

Hermione remained a few paces behind Severus, just in case he had to stop for any reason. It was strange watching the professor, who was obviously absent of his billowing black teaching robes—as she had them around her body—stride purposefully across the castle, yet he still walked with a rigid comportment that was always present.

Wrought with anxiety as they continued on to the dungeons, Hermione gritted her teeth as the damp, sticky seat of her knickers rubbed uncomfortably against her with each step. She wanted nothing more than to take off the sodden undergarments, as well as her shoes, which by now definitely had her feet protesting. She hadn't noticed it at the time, being a bit preoccupied with Severus' head between her legs and all, but it had taken a great effort on her part to maintain balance on her heels the entire time.

Hermione was still trying to remain calm when they finally reached the dungeons. She and Snape passed a student in the corridors, and Hermione, already conjuring up all sorts of scenarios where things could go wrong, fervently prayed that he wouldn't stop the young man. Fortunately, Snape barely nodded his head in the direction of the wizard, and she nearly collapsed with relief when he continued onwards down the hall.

Hermione hadn't a clue where Snape's private chambers were located. She would have guessed somewhere not from the Potions classroom or the Slytherin dormitories. Finally they approached a nondescript door that was completely on the other side of the of the dungeons, and Hermione watched as Snape withdrew his wand and pointed it at the lock. Immediately the door swung open, revealing a room that was completely pitch black. Without looking back, Snape walked inside and left the door open. Hermione took that as an indication to follow behind, and did so quickly.

Once the door shut and locked on its own, candles that were scattered throughout the room sprang to life, bathing the entire area in a faint, orange glow. Any other time, Hermione would have been eagerly taking in her surroundings. However, she was currently distracted by the professor, who had smoothly withdrew his wand from an inner pocket and tapped it at the side of her head, lifting the Disillusionment charm. Now he stood across from her, and although his dark eyes weren't focused on anything other than hers, Hermione was a tad self-conscious.

She felt somewhat silly with his long robes draped over her small frame, much of the material still bunched up in her arms as she had done her best to keep them from picking up dirt and dust from Hogwarts' floors.

Severus wasn't used to having anyone in his private rooms. The only person that came close to even setting foot over the threshold had been Dumbledore, and that was when Severus was first given the position as Potions master at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had personally escorted him down to the dungeons to show him around the castle before leading him to his rooms.

Already having felt possessive of his personal quarters, as there had been scant things in his life that Snape could consider his own, he hadn't attempted to hide the fact that he did not want the headmaster to come inside. With that quiet way of his, Dumbledore understood, and had left the then much younger Severus Snape to his own devices.

Snape didn't even allow the house-elves inside of his room. Dealing with Black's nasty house-elf (despite the fact that it was obvious the wizard never liked his own house-elf) whenever he had to attend meetings for The Order had been enough; he had no need to consort with the creatures on a daily basis, even if they were of a milder temperament. Potter's elf, Dobby, reputation had preceded him, and he could definitely stay away; the last thing Snape needed was for the odd little tea-cosy hatted being to accidentally set fire to his book collection or the like.

Now Hermione was standing across from him, swaddled in his teaching robes, with a mixture of repressed lust and something else swimming in her brown eyes.

He knew that he should send her back to her room, or to wherever else she chose, so long as it was away from him. But the sweet, salty taste of her release till lingered on his lips, and Snape was far from being finished with the young witch. There was a small furrow between her brows, and he figured that Hermione was either ruminating over her next move, as Severus knew she was wont to do when it came to everything, or she was clearly at a loss as to what she should do, for she remained at a complete standstill.

How right the professor was. Hermione was rehashing the way she had been clamoring for the wizard's attention for so long, that she found it hard to wrap her head around the idea that she was actually alone in his rooms with him, that she would finally get what she'd been yearning for. Every last one of her distracting thoughts went up in a puff of smoke when she suddenly heard Severus speak.

"Come here, Hermione."

Cautiously moving out of place, the soft, slow tapping of heels against the bare floor was the only noise in the room. Hermione thought it strange that Severus had been so vocal not long before, when they were in serious danger of being overhead in the darkened niche. Now that they were completely alone, he was quiet, save for him beckoning her closer.

The tapping noise was soon thudded as she moved onto a large carpet that was spread across the floor in the middle of the room. The two weren't far from a burning hearth, and Hermione felt the heat brushing against her legs.

As soon as she was in front of Severus, he peeled back the edges of his teaching robes, also moving her shawl out of the way and exposing the expanse of bare skin at the scooped neckline of her dress. While Hermione had been abruptly sent from hot to cold, what with being licked to orgasm and then having to walk across the drafty castle, the flames of her arousal had been slightly dampened in the process. However, Severus had wasted no time in stoking its flames by bodily pulling Hermione against him, sweeping her curls away from her neck and running his lips over the now goose-pimpled flesh.

The sensation was enough for Hermione to be thrown off-kilter, especially on feet that now felt as if they were the size of flippers from her inconvenient shoes, and she twined both arms around Severus' neck, holding onto him to keep from falling. Severus obviously refused to be interrupted by Hermione's gaucheness, as she suddenly felt him dip and press an arm against the back of her legs. Easily hefting her up into his arms, he then carried Hermione over to what felt like a desk and sat her on its edge, before insinuating himself between her pink dress-covered thighs.

That familiar pulsing between her legs began again as Severus slid one hand up her neck to close a fist around a handful of curls at the back of her neck. Using just enough pressure to tug on Hermione's hair to encourage her head to the side, she found the entire thing to be wildly exhilarating, especially when coupled with the feel of his thin, soft lips tracing along the juncture where her neck and shoulder connected.

Shawl and teaching robes began slipping down her shoulders, until they surrounded Hermione in a white and black heap. One minute, Severus had been kissing and nipping at her skin with reined passion. The next, his lips nearly attacked hers in a fierce kiss, becoming more and more untamed.

Hermione barely protested when he caught her bottom lip between his own, tugging on the bit of flesh that she now realised was sore and most likely swollen from previously biting through the delicate skin. But the feel of him against her...oh, how she needed more.

Scooting closer to the edge of the desk, Hermione curled her legs around Severus'. Somewhere at the back of her mind she hoped that she wasn't digging her shoes into his skin, a far cry from how not thirty minutes ago, she was considering kicking him with them. But she definitely didn't want to kick Severus at the moment, and her small fingers threaded through black hair just as his arms encircled her waist.

Firmly enthralled in the feel of Severus' lips and hands against her, Hermione didn't want them to part for one minute, not even so she could take off her shoes. Resorting to using the toe of one foot to nudge the shoe off the other, it was apparent that Severus noticed the fumbling with Hermione's feet going on behind his back, because he pushed her further back on the desk and stooped down to grasp onto her legs. Hermione made some protest at the loss of contact, and all it took was a flash of Severus' black eyes at her face to make her fall silent.

Long, pale fingers clutched onto her ankle while his other hand unfastened the skinny straps of her shoes. Once both shoes were removed and hastily discarded, or as Hermione vaguely suspected, thrown, somewhere beneath the desk with a soft thump, Severus retook his place between her thighs.

"Bloody infuriating woman," she could have sworn she heard him mutter into her hair, although she was too caught up in the feel of his warm tongue tracing across her pulse right below her ear.

"Infuriating wizard," she shot back, but her words were soon cut off by the professor telling her to be quiet before covering her mouth with his.

Her feet felt wonderfully light now that Severus had removed her shoes, and even the feel of his woolen trousers against her toes felt delicious as she rubbed them along the backs of his thighs.

"You keep doing that, and you're going to end up being taken on this desk," he warned in a silky voice.

Hermione remained silent, merely leaning back and supporting her weight on both elbows. She brought one leg around to the front of Severus trousers, while her eyes challengingly remained focused on his. Casting him an impish look, she slid her tights-covered toes over the firm bulge pressing against his placket.

The last thing Severus felt like was being challenged by the very much enticing witch, who looked all the more alluring while laying on top of his teaching robes, thighs splayed with her dress doing very little to conceal them. The sight of her small, shapely foot teasing his now fully erect cock through his trousers was enough to make him want to rip off her tights and knickers and thrust himself inside her body to the hilt.

Right then, Hermione brought the other leg around, both of her knees bent at an angle as she used her feet to continue rubbing against him. Finally having enough of the troublesome witch's brand of torment, Severus hastily shoved the skirt of her dress up to expose the waistband of her tights and knickers. Hermione barely had the chance to raise her hips to assist Severus in removing both items when he suddenly tugged them down and off her legs.

If he snagged and ripped the delicate fabric, Hermione didn't complain. Still propped up by dint of both elbows, she watched wide-eyed as Severus began making short work of unfastening the placket of his trousers. When the material hung freely, exposing only the top of a thatch of dark pubic hair, he curled one arm around her thigh to pull her closer to the edge of the table. The other hand reached inside trousers that somehow remained on his hips, and Severus withdrew a prominent and weeping erection. Captivated by its ruddy colour, Hermione tried keeping her head up to keep it in her line of vision, only to roughly lower it back to the pile of teaching robes and moan as Severus began teasing her still wet pussy with its tip.

The smooth head sliding over and around her sensitive clitoris felt incredible, and Hermione undulated her hips, trying to make Severus move faster, needing more than his agonisingly slow rhythm. The professor refused to be rushed, and continued touching her at the same pace. He was taken by the sight of her quivering, clasping slit of her opening, and the engorged bud at the top of her folds. Whenever his cock gave it a gentle nudge, Hermione's thighs would tense against him, and her curled up toes dug and pushed into his still clothed hip.

Severus' intentions had been meant to tease and taunt Hermione for a bit while trying to regain his own composure, only it was beginning to backfire against him. Without warning, using one hard, brutal thrust, he shoved his entire length into her body, and it was enough to make Hermione cry out while her hands frantically scrabbled around the desk with the need to hold onto something.

Severus had let out a loud swear as he was completely engulfed by the tight, nearly scalding heat. Four months without the pleasure of Hermione's body had done little to make him forget that sublime feeling of initial penetration. If anything, the memory was pure agony. Although she was still wet, Hermione's walls were tight and clenching, and he'd felt every ripple, every ring of sleek muscle deliciously abrading his sensitive shaft as she clamped down onto him, and it was enough to make him light-headed.

Trembling with the effort to remain still lest he either fuck Hermione through his desk or come too soon, Severus spanned her hips with both hands, trying to keep her from moving against him. She fit around him so perfectly that he was sure even the most uncoordinated of her wriggles would be enough to set him off.

Meanwhile, four months of forced celibacy was working against Hermione. She was desperately trying to ignore the fiery sensation that had ripped through her lower half. Yes, she wanted him, but her walls felt nearly too tight, too stretched out by Severus, even though a glimmer of pleasure lie beneath.

Severus continued trembling with the effort to remain still. Opening his eyes to look down at the red-faced girl, he knew that he should ask if she was alright, as it was difficult to sort out the pain from the pleasure on her crumpled up features. Yet with a choked sob, she gripped either sides of his desk, completely unaware of the stacks of papers and books becoming precariously close to being knocked down, and rolled her hips against Severus, beckoning him to carry on.

While the first few tentative thrusts still hurt, Hermione found that it also aroused her, and she flexed her walls around Severus, eliciting a loud _"Fuck!"_ from the wizard and he thrust unevenly against her.

Long fingers dug into her hips through the material of her dress, gripping onto her clothed skin and pulling her forward to meet each slow thrust. Hermione breathed hard as Severus' thick shaft dragged along her walls, and she soon found herself wanting him to go harder. Clutching onto what felt like a thick stack of parchment with her left hand, and what Hermione believed to be a small pile of quills in her right, she moaned and greedily pushed her hips forward.

That small motion was all it took for Severus to hastily pull back, only to plunge deeply again into place. The young witch twisted and writhed about on his desk as if she were being burnt at the stake. Perhaps the feeling wasn't all that different, as Hermione literally was burning on the inside with pent up lust, want, and several other things that she was scarcely able to put a name to.

At some point his hands moved from her hips and came back down to her thighs, his blunt nails raking across her skin and leaving behind fiery little trails. Hermione was rapidly becoming undone by the churning of Severus' hips against hers. He kept forcefully driving himself into her, each time brushing against a spot that made her breath catch in her throat. Fighting back a scream, Hermione was on the brink of silently asking herself if breathing was all that important, as she didn't want to give even that much divided attention to the seemingly mundane, albeit necessary, task.

Never mind what it was that Severus was doing to her mentally; she could barely fathom what he was doing to her physically that could make her question if she really needed air at the moment. His hands were all over her body as he relentlessly bottomed out within her, and it was enough to make her grind her teeth to keep from outright screaming.

Severus eyes had snapped shut at that first thrust, but he pried them open long enough to see that Hermione was obviously trying to hold back, and it only spurred him on to make her completely lose control. Yet before they actually finished, Severus wanted to see more of Hermione's body. He stilled his hips long enough to pull her into an upright position on his desk.

Hermione's head was so thickly clouded with lust and want that she never questioned Severus when he pulled her against him. She merely wrapped her legs around his waist, unable to keep her wanton wriggling at bay. It was interesting to feel him deeply embedded inside of her without him actually moving. It still felt good whenever she squeezed around his shaft, and going by the way Severus' hips unevenly jerked against hers, it also felt good to him.

It felt more than just good to Severus; it was as if the witch was trying to strangle his cock with her snug walls. Hermione had pulled him down and begun kissing beneath his jaw, while he was making short work of unzipping the back of her dress and shoving it down to her waist. The young witch also wore some sort of strapless bra that didn't have any clasp, and with impatient fingers, he pulled that down as well.

Hermione didn't give a damn that her once pristine party dress was now in a crumpled heap at her navel, most likely getting wrinkled beyond recognition as the material was pressed and crumpled between her, Severus, and his desk. She decided that she also needed to see him naked, and began scrabbling through the thick material of his frock coat. Severus held still long enough for Hermione to get open a few buttons at the bottom of the garment, although impatience made her fingers clumsy. Gently prying her hands away, he unfastened the remaining buttons, all the while smirking down at the heavily breathing witch.

"That too," Hermione said breathlessly, gesturing to his perfectly tied cravat.

"Demanding little witch, you are," Severus grunted, although he relented and with expertise, untied and unwound the slippery length of material from around his neck.

"I don't care," Hermione replied, sounding as if she owned not one drop of shame. "You've made me wait all this time; you should be grateful that I'm not complaining more." She had raised both hands to begin undoing the buttons at the top of his white linen shirt. All of two were unfastened before Severus threw her off kilter by sharply swiveling his hips, hitting something deep inside that made Hermione yelp in pleasure and nearly collapse from sharply arching her back.

Two wiry arms were quick to catch her, although Severus kept her down against his desk, leaving one arm beneath her back, and his hand splayed against her bare shoulder.

"No patience and typical Gryffindor restraint," he whispered against her ear as his teeth lightly nipped at its lobe. Hermione shivered as his teeth sent a jolt of pleasure to her stomach and threw her arms around his neck, releasing a soft cry when his lips trailed a path down her chest.

Severus nipped and kissed his way along her creamy skin, enjoying the way each patch that his mouth touched bloomed into a rosy hue. Hermione bucked against him when his teeth caught onto one erect nipple, and she evidently wanted more for she pushed her breast into his face. It seemed the young witch liked a little pain with her pleasure and most likely didn't even realise it. Severus then pinched and tugged on the other nipple while his tongue continued fervently swirling around the other one, and Hermione clutched onto his hair, mewling and rubbing against him while her fingers dug into his bony shoulders.

"Tell me what you want, Hermione."

"What?"

"You heard me. Say it."

Hermione let out something between a moan and an exasperated sigh, as her composure was dissolving quickly. She didn't know if Severus wanted to hear her talk dirty, or what, but at that point she was so far gone it didn't make a different. She felt as if she were halfway between heaven and hell, as he was sensuously pressed inside an area of her body that even she hadn't touched before, although he was barely moving, and it was enough to make her want to scream and order him to keep going.

"You know what you want—just say it," Severus ordered darkly, giving one sharp thrust and relishing in the scream the witch released.

Hermione got the idea that Severus' words held double meanings, although her brain was so fogged that it was hard to even form a single, coherent thought, much less trying to work out what he was getting at.

"_You_, damn it, I want you!" she moaned, tightening her arms and legs around Severus and urging him to thrust into her again.

Hermione had begun kissing the small sliver of skin that was exposed between the opening of Severus' collar. Clutching onto her hair, he tugged her head back and looked down into her face. She was trembling against him, and her fingers continued twisting into the material of his shirt. It was obvious that Hermione was completely overwhelmed, although she was doing her best to try and keep it at bay.

Snape was definitely not having that. The little witch had tempted and taunted him, sometimes unknowingly, to the point where he thought he would truly go mad unless he found some sort of reprieve. Their short time spent together in the classroom hadn't been nearly enough to slake his lust for the young woman; if anything, it only made him want more. Now that he had her at his mercy, literally and figuratively, if it were to be for the last time, Snape was going to make sure that it was worth it. Every bloody minute.

"Scream for me," he commanded in a voice that came out in a sensuous growl. "Scream for me and I'll let you come."

Hermione inhaled sharply as if she could scarcely believe that words that came from the wizard's mouth. However, he didn't give her much time to protest or concede, as his hips sharply jerked forward again, and it was enough to make Hermione scream. She clung to Severus as if she weren't sure that he would keep going, only he did, and with each thrust forward, her cries became louder.

It was too much. Hermione couldn't breathe, think, nor blink, had her eyes even been opened. Severus somehow managed to keep both his arms around her, holding onto her tightly while leaving no part of her body untouched. He came into her so fiercely it was as if he literally _was_ a part of her, and it left her completely winded. The only thing Hermione knew was that the most intense climax she had experienced thus far was inevitably going to hit her. Between Severus urging her to come in that same baritone that was now sensual instead of patronising, combined with the gratifying movement of his hips, Hermione soon found herself holding onto him for dear life while being firmly catapulted over the edge.

Severus continued lustily fucking her throughout her climax, and Hermione's moans quickly rose to a shrill cry. Seconds later she reached another peak, and her screams echoed and reverberated throughout his entire sitting room. Typically, Severus had been grateful for the setup of his rooms, as noise was impenetrable from the outside as well as the inside, as he was spared from hearing the shrieking of students that happened to pass by his door. Never would he have thought such a feature would come in useful for an impromptu round of sex occurring atop his desk. Either way, it was a good thing that no one was able to hear Hermione, lest they believe that the witch was being tortured.

It wasn't likely that Hermione would protest to the type of torture that she was enduring. Her ankles were locked at the small of Severus' back, and although her bottom was still perched at the edge of the desk, she had both arms tautly twined around his neck, fervently holding onto him for balance.

She hadn't been prepared for that last kiss, right before Severus brushed his lips against hers again, begging her to come apart for him one last time. Just as the stirrings of another orgasm took hold, Hermione's back curved and her breasts became flattened against his chest. The back of her head was cradled in Severus' palm, as the wizard was intent on keeping her face next to his.

He was aggressively thrusting into her by now, his sac slapping against her bum each time he bottomed out within her, and Hermione was rendered helpless by the sheer force of buffeting pleasure. It was as if Severus was commandeering every inch of her body, captivating each of her senses, down to the tiniest one. Hermione never noticed the thud of books that fell to the floor, nor the pot of ink that was accidentally overturned. She did, however, sense the edges of her vision growing blurry as her body finally shattered into what felt like a million pieces. Hermione could barely catch her breath, and tears ran down the sides of her face, leaving long, damp trails along her flushed cheeks.

With a groan that matched Hermione's in intensity if not pitch, Severus went rigid from head to toe as he erupted into her body, his behind tight and clenching as he pressed himself against the witch. The last thing Hermione noticed before going completely limp in Severus' arms was him holding her almost possessively to him. Up until then he had been holding back, keeping his own cries of pleasure muffled, but he began calling out her name right next to her ear when his own release took over.

By the time Severus finally came back down to earth, he shifted Hermione in his arms to look down into her face. Her skin was flushed to the point where it looked as if she were glowing. It looked as if Hermione was asleep, although her chest continued to heave with the need for air, even in unconsciousness. Her skin and hair was damp with sweat, although some of it was surely his, having come from his forehead when he went to kiss the witch. Her lips were red and swollen from the assault with his own, and the bottom one was marred with a dark red crescent-shaped line. Noticing that it match the shape of Hermione's upper teeth, Severus fumbled around for his wand and placed the tip by her mouth, effectively healing the small gash.

It took a long time for Severus to convince himself that he couldn't stay buried inside of Hermione forever, that he needed to pull out and get them both sorted. A mingling of their release lie in a small puddle on the desk beneath Hermione's behind, although she had no say on the matter as she was currently dead to the world.

Cleaned by use of wand and buttoned back into his trousers, Severus glanced again at Hermione, who was still out cold and splayed atop of his teaching robes, a lump beneath the material what he was sure was a pile consisting of second and third year homework assignments. Telling himself that he would fix anything that needed it, Severus scooped the unconscious witch up into his arms and carried her over to his small sofa. Her head immediately flopped forward and came to a rest at the crook of his neck, and remained there even as he lowered them both to the sofa.

While he was still mostly dressed, even with his boots, Hermione only had on her rumpled dress and bra that circled her waist in a pink heap. She was just beginning to curl up against him and shiver when Severus summoned his teaching robes from his desk and arranged the swath of material over her trembling form. Her small frame finally went still, and Hermione gave a little sigh as she subconsciously nuzzled her face against Severus' neck, never once waking up from her deep slumber.

* * *

Halfway between that place of restfulness and waking up, Hermione found that she was comfortable, much too comfortable, even though she wasn't lying in bed. She was resting on what felt like the familiar curve of a lean male body, and was nearly able to inhale a scent that didn't belong to her. But she didn't want to open her eyes. If she did, perhaps she would find that everything had been a dream and that she was actually lying in her bed in Gryffindor Tower, with naught for company except her cat.

Subconsciously believing that everything was a dream, she was unable to hold back a small sob and burrowed further into whatever it was she was lying on, still refusing to completely wake up. Only a hand that obviously didn't belong to her brushed across the top of her bare shoulder, and it was enough to make Hermione finally open her eyes.

The first thing that came into view was a low burning fire at an unfamiliar hearth. Quickly appraising herself, Hermione found that she was completely naked yet warm, save for something covering her from neck to foot, only a quick wriggle told her that she still had something surrounding her waist. Long fingers were loosely curved over her shoulder, and tilting her head slightly, Hermione looked up into the calm, sleeping face of Severus Snape.

His right arm was around her shoulders, and the left was tucked beneath his head, which was tilted back and resting at an awkward looking angle on the rolled arm of the sofa. It was strange seeing him without his lank black hair hanging in curtains around his face, as it had fallen back and left his gaunt features completely exposed.

Hermione had been using him as some sort of full-length body pillow for what she guessed had been an hour or so. Something had been draped over her, and she now realised that the material consisted of his famous billowing black teaching robes. The small sofa they were entangled on was obviously meant for sitting only, as Hermione was tucked between both of Severus' long and probably uncomfortably bent legs. Looking down, she saw that his legs were also partially covered by his robes, yet both his black dragon-hide booted ankles were propped up on the other rolled end of the sofa, and she knew for sure that he was uncomfortable.

Regardless, she wanted to stay close to him for as long as possible, and gently rested her head back against his chest. She still didn't get to take a good look around the room, but resorted to do so at a later time.

"You shouldn't be here."

It had been a while before Severus spoke, thusly shocking Hermione as she was sure that he had still been asleep. Even though his words said one thing, his actions spoke of another, as that same hand that rested atop her shoulder was now gently stroking the back of her neck.

Too enthralled with the sensation of his fingers tantalisingly roaming over her skin, it was a few minutes before she replied with a soft, non-mocking, " And yet, here I am."

The fingers stopped, and Hermione wanted to complain outright. Severus then sat up with Hermione still against his chest. She remained between his legs and he drew her away, just enough to look squarely into her face. "And therein lies the problem."

Hermione slowly shook her head, and it caused the robes to slip down from her shoulders. She was also beginning to tremble from the loss of Severus' body heat, and he reached around Hermione with both arms to secure the garment around her entire form.

"You won't get rid of me that easily, Severus," she replied, almost defiantly. "Not this time." Hermione had the gall to actually gesture to her nakedness beneath that his teaching robes were keeping covered, and Severus scowled so fiercely that she laughed in spite of herself. "Well, it isn't as if I'd planned on swanning through the dungeons in your robes, shouting that I've just shagged the Head of Slytherin House! Honestly, Severus."

"Cheeky little bint," Severus muttered, reaching out to a still giggling Hermione once more to pull her back against him. She was still shaking with laughter as she buried her head into his chest, although her mirthful sounds tapered off into a content sigh when his arms tightened around her.

Undoubtedly that would have been a sight to see. Severus would have paid his last Galleons just to see the look on some of the older, stuffier portraits' faces, at the sight of the half-naked Gryffindor announcing that she and Snape had just made the beast with two backs. His strenuous life barely afforded him many chances to laugh, although it seemed that Granger had forced him to do so on more than one occasion. That idea did amuse him, even if thinking about the reactions of the rest of the staff was enough to wipe the smirk off his face.

The rest of the professors at Hogwarts learning about his and Hermione's illicit relationship, however, would be the least of his worries. If news were to travel to other ears outside of Hogwarts...ears that belonged to one specific serpent-like wizard...things would turn bad, very quickly.

"The other professors and everyone else aren't the only ones that had you worried, are they?" Hermione suddenly asked. She had been playing with the small buttons on his white shirt, slipping her fingers beneath the placket and stroking him through the vest beneath.

Right then Snape cursed her insight, because she somehow managed to ask the very thing he began thinking of.

"Yes," he reluctantly admitted, although he spoke with a forced calmness. He didn't want to delve deeper into details, knowing that Hermione had a penchant to work herself up into a state of worry, but at the same time, he didn't want to leave her blissfully ignorant. Although, even the latter was hard to do, considering everything she and her friends had been through thus far.

Hermione let out a sharp gasp, and she scrambled to sit upright. "I'm an idiot; I never thought about that...I mean, I'm a Muggleborn and you're—well, where you went those nights back at Grimmauld Place, and—"

Hermione didn't know about Snape's history and obviously believed him to be a pureblood wizard. In actuality, he and another malicious wizard held only one thing in common, that fact being that they were both half-bloods. Snape had never tried to hide that point from Voldemort, and from the very beginning he made it known that he was devoted entirely to his cause, and thus was spared having his loyalties scrutinised. Things were, of course, different now, and his motives were secretly guarded and solely kept between him and the headmaster at Hogwarts.

The little witch now perched between his knees and babbling away had been a most unexpected occurrence, although not an unpleasant one. The last thing Snape planned on was dragging anyone else into his hodgepodge of a life, refusing to let another fall as a result of his own misdoings. True, he and Hermione had a shorter and much different history, but still, he refused to let anything happen to her. He truly didn't think that he would be able to handle that.

"Hermione," he calmly interrupted, ready to put an end to her tirade, although she seemed to have not heard him. "Hermione—_enough._"

Snape had to literally pinch her lips closed with two fingers to stop her from prattling on. She looked back at him with shock-widened eyes, although her mouth finally stilled.

"So long as you do as I say, stop roaming around by yourself, and keep out of trouble as you and your little friends are wont to do, you will be fine," Snape reassured, although he wondered if his words would hold true, and if so, for how long.

"I _cannot_ tell you everything and I will not, so do not ask me," he continued. "If I need you do to something, don't question me. Is that understood?"

Hermione had grown quiet as if the weight of their conversation sobered her, but she nodded her head in agreement.

"Are you feeling uneasy now?" Snape went on to ask, wondering if Hermione would be so keen to continue sticking around now that he pointed out the other things they would inevitably have to deal with.

The corner of Hermione's mouth lifted slightly. "I've been uneasy ever since a troll tried to kill me in my first year," she admitted. "Almost being killed by one of my own professors, tortured by another, and then coming face-to-face with Death Eaters only sweetened the pot. But I'm still here, aren't I?"

"That you are, Miss Granger. That you are."

"Hermione."

"Alright—Hermione."

"And to think, the only thing I was worried about was if you still wanted me or not. Well, that, and how I would get to see you...like this, again."

Snape arched one eyebrow and peered into the smirking witch's face. "I would think that you would be more concerned with your plans on sneaking back into Gryffindor Tower."

"Well..." she trailed off in a sheepish voice. "I wasn't planning on leaving right this minute, to be honest. And besides, I've snuck out loads of time. My roommates don't notice anything."

Hermione's eyes grew wide as an owl's and she clapped a hand over her mouth, realising that she'd just told on herself. Snape merely shook his head at her, although she could have sworn that he was fighting back one of his almost smiles.

"I always had a suspicion that something wasn't quite right inside that head of yours," he said, narrowing his dark eyes at her.

"What?"

"You heard me, Granger. You need to have your head examined. As it is, will you at least try to keep yourself out of harm's way? As well as those other two dunderheads?"

Hermione didn't know whether to kiss Severus or laugh at the fact that she was excluded from being one of the 'dunderheads' even if he just insisted that she was mad in the head.

"Yes, I'll make sure that we keep ourselves safe," Hermione agreed.

"_You_ especially, Granger, and do not take my words lightly. No more late night trips on your own to the library, I don't care how desperate you deem your urge to be."

Hermione grumbled and clutched Snape's teaching robes around her more tightly around her, turning her nose up into the air. "Fine, damn it. I won't sneak out of the dorms again. How did you know about that in the first place?" she demanded, only Snape shot her a knowing look. "You know everything, annoying omniscient Slytherin. Why does that not surprise me?"

Snape returned with a wry laugh. "I won't pretend to know everything, but I know about your little antics, as well as of those of the other two. "

"Well why did you never say anything?"

Silence.

"Oh, well I suppose you have your reasons. Not that you're going to tell me."

"Very good, Miss Granger."

_"Hermione._"

"Hermione. I still stand by my original statement."

"What, the one about me being mad?"

"Hmm, that would be the one."

Hermione feigned mock annoyance as she scrambled upright to her knees between Severus' legs, planting both hands against his chest and leaning forward against him. "Who are you calling _mad,_ Professor?" she whispered, nuzzling her face against his angular cheekbones.

"You were the one that said mad, I simply stated that something was wrong with your head. But if you want to use _mad..." _With that, Snape pried one of Hermione's hands away from his chest and lowered it between them, until her fingertips were touching what was undeniably another erection. "You are mad, indeed, if you thought for one moment that I didn't want you."

Clearly shocked by that small confession, Hermione froze with her lips still hovering next to Snape's cheek. Her fingers tentatively rubbed him through his trousers, although when it was evident that her caresses were welcomed, they soon became bolder. A minute later, Hermione was still grasping and stroking his cock through the stiff material, while her lips pressed kisses into the side of his face. She was on the verge of unfastening his placket when Snape held onto her wrist, stopping her.

"Not on this uncomfortable, tiny-arsed sofa. I barely sit on this thing as it is."

"Alright, then where?"

Two black eyes searchingly looking into Hermione's face for a moment, and without saying a word, Severus unfolded his long limbs and fluidly rose from the sofa. He extended a hand to the witch and also helped her up.

Hermione hadn't realised that her body was sore from earlier, and although while it wasn't wholly unpleasant, it was enough to make her grimace. Besides being sore, she had to fumble to keep her dress from completely falling down her legs, while still holding onto the teaching robes. The fire still burned at the hearth, but the room wasn't warm enough that Hermione could stand there naked.

"Come along, you little troublemaker," Snape said, beckoning Hermione to follow him.

* * *

**_tbc..._**

**_That's right...they aren't done...;) besides I owe you lovely folks LOTS of lemons! _**


	20. Chapter 20

**_A/N: Happy New Year! So pleeeease don't send me to the Oubliette or the Bog of Eternal Stench for this late update! But honestly, I'd rather it be a day...alright, or two, late than to just throw something up and it has a bunch of errors. Plus I had some other stuff I wanted to add it and I owe you amazing, wonderful, lovable, folks lots of lemons sooo hopefully I delivered ;). I'm still replying to reviews and THANK YOU! Your kind words and suggestions are the only payment I get and I value and appreciate every word. I have a few new followers, hellooooo darlings! If you receive pms (omg PM's, not pms, that's not fun) sorry, but I feel the need to extend my gratitude to all. Onecelestialbeing, stfu, no one cares about your long author's note. But I have some Kinder chocolates to share if anyone likes? I never had them before and they look interesting. Alright, shutting up now._**

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The walk to Severus' bedroom, or to where Hermione assumed was his bedroom, hadn't taken that long. She followed the professor down a small, dark hallway, lingering next to what felt like a wall while she waited for him to light a candle. Snape moved around so quietly in the dark that Hermione was unable to hear him, never mind see him, until light flared across the room and showed that he was standing right next to her.

"Don't do that!" Hermione seethed after getting over her fright. "I don't understand how you can wear heavy dragon-hide boots and walk around without making a single sound."

"Years of practice," Snape said dismissively, although it was plain that he found humour in Hermione becoming jumpy as the smirk on his face gave him away. She was still glowering up at him as he walked over to her and put his hands to her waist to assist in removing her rumpled dress and strapless bra.

"Why is it so cold in your room?" Hermione asked, her teeth nearly chattering as she raised both arms when Snape brought the jumble of material up her torso. A gust of cool air swept over her feet and sent a wave of goose bumps all the way up to her thighs, making her shiver.

"Not even in my rooms for five minutes and already I'm subjected to your grousing," he murmured, pulling the dress over Hermione's head and setting it on an armchair behind him. He then silently gestured for Hermione to climb into bed, while he turned and flicked his wand across the room. Flames immediately erupted at a hearth, and soon a gentle warmth hung about in the air, chasing out the dank chill.

Snape finally stripped her of her remaining garments, and Hermione couldn't wait to get into bed. She knew she looked completely graceless as she nearly tripped over her own feet in the midst of scrambling up onto the high mattress, but she didn't care. She was completely naked and despite the fire burning across from her, she was still too cold for comfort and needed to warm up. Unashamedly giving a generous view of her entire rounded bottom to Snape, Hermione crawled to the center of the bed and immediately sought refuge beneath the thick duvet and soft sheets. Sinking back onto the pillows and leaving only her head exposed, she began peering around the room.

Snape's bedroom was adequately sized if a bit nondescript, yet it fit the wizard perfectly. There weren't many personal items, such as photographs or the like lying about, although it seemed that Severus had crammed an unending supply of books into the space. His bedside table held an unlit candle and a tatty leather bound tome, and across the room was an old looking wooden table, seemingly groaning beneath the weight of a generous-sized pile of books.

The bed she was reclining in was canopied and curtained, the material hanging down either a dark grey or blue; it was hard to tell through the murky candlelight. Of course the entire thing was three times bigger than her narrow bed back in Gryffindor Tower, and instead of the standard flannel sheets that covered the student beds, Severus had a set of soft sheets and a duvet that matched the bed curtains. Wriggling her toes among the bedding, Hermione could scarcely believe that she was in Severus Snape's bed, also in disbelief at how utterly comfortable it was. There was no way in hell that she would be able to sleep comfortably in her bed back in the dormitory from now on, not after this.

The rest of the room was still too dark for Hermione to see much of anything, although her attention was now focused on the wizard moving about at the side of the bed. He was in the midst of methodically removing his remaining clothing, and when the last stitch had been pulled off, a pale and stark naked Snape lifted the edge of the covers and climbed in beside Hermione.

Snape was in the middle of doing his best to make out what to think of the little messy haired witch in his bed, when she shifted over beneath the bed sheets and left her soft, warm side pressed against his.

_You're doing it again, _Snape thought to himself of his pointless silent parroting. He was the tiniest bit amazed by the sight of an equally naked Hermione in his bed, a place that up until now had been used merely to close his eyes and attempt to drown out the stressfulness of his life. The bed was more lavish than the one he had back in his home at Spinner's End, yet no amount of invitingly soft pillows and mattresses could erase the thoughts that plagued him on a daily basis.

Hermione had been a welcome, albeit temporary, distraction when they spent time together at Grimmauld Place. While at first he hadn't been sure if he planned on continuing with their improper relationship once school resumed, that uncertainty turned into a definite no once he saw her dress in her uniform, and sitting at a desk in his classroom. But now that she was in his cold, dark room, in his bed, in his _mind,_ he found it hard to send her away. Especially when taking into consideration the way she was currently looking at him, as if she were eager for him to come next to her. It was a look of softness and innocence, with a trace of sweetness that only Hermione could display, and it sent a jolt to his stomach.

Hermione had been smiling bashfully when Snape got into bed with her. Usually they both remained naked after an ardent round of sex, and it was different to see him get into bed without any nightclothes. Out of all the things that had been running through her mind, Hermione found that she was now too shy to utter even a single word, and resorted to resting her head next to Snape's.

The silence filling the bedroom was easy, and the crackling of the hearth was comforting. Hermione cautiously slipped a hand over to Severus' side and lay it on his chest, stroking her fingertips along his ribcage when he didn't tell her to move.

Snape wasn't looking directly at her, nor was he looking completely away from her, although in the dark it was hard to tell just what he was focusing on. Yet his arm did make its way across Hermione's shoulder to pull her closer.

"Severus?" Hermione asked in a sleepy voice.

"Yes?"

"Why did you call Crookshanks 'demonic'?"

Severus' body shook slightly with laughter. "Of everything you could ask me right now, that's the question you choose?"

"I was just curious..." she trailed off, although he could feel the indisputable shape of her smiling lips against his bicep.

"Your cat is intelligent, but he's still shifty. While we're asking questions, just what the devil possessed you to go anywhere with that idiot boy?" Snape asked.

"I already told you," Hermione mumbled, feeling her cheeks heating with embarrassment. "He asked me on one of my off days, and I wasn't thinking. It's not going to happen again."

"I should hope not. I saw him hobbling out after you ran out of the corner. Next time aim...higher...no, there better not be a next time. What did the simpleton do?"

"He put his grubby paws on my waist and tried to kiss me," Hermione answered. "And there won't be a next time, promise. Not with him or anyone else."

"Do you mean willingly or unwillingly?"

Hermione's bushy head popped up and she looked at Snape seriously for a moment. "Neither. What did you think I meant?"

"Lie back down, witch," Snape told her with slight exasperation, sticking his fingers into the back of Hermione's wild curls and urging her head down onto his chest. "Eventually..." he began, before changing his mind and cutting himself off. Snape had been on the verge of pointing out that he would most definitely not be around forever, and not for a long time, going by the looks of things, but saw no reason to put a damper on the evening. Unfortunately, Hermione seemed to have known what he was getting at, for she turned her head to glare at him, almost painfully clipping him in the ribs with her chin.

"I already told you; you don't get rid of me that easily." Without another word, she then turned her head and flopped it back down onto Snape's chest.

While she still harboured worries of her own, Hermione knew that she couldn't change any of it at the moment, and did her best to not work herself up into a state. It wouldn't serve either of them any purpose, and all she would do was turn her evening sour again. No, the chips would have to fall where they may, but in the meantime, she would just enjoy Severus' company.

Both knew that they were holding back dark, unspoken sentiments, yet neither wanted to admit to them. Hermione drew her arm around Snape's torso beneath the sheets and held onto him tightly, nuzzling her face against his shoulder. His fingers continued twirling curls around at the back of her head, and eventually Hermione became relaxed again.

She continued tracing her fingers along Snape's chest, and couldn't help but notice that he seemed thinner than before. It was obvious that the professor was more peaky than usual as of late, but now that her face was a couple inches away from his, Hermione saw that his cheekbones were marginally more pronounced, and his skin was extremely pallid, as if he was sick or had been hiding in his rooms for the past month.

The man was exhausted, that much was clear. Hermione that Snape's already thin fingers were being worked to the bone, and she felt indignant on his behalf. But it wasn't as if Severus Snape was one of the house-elves at Hogwarts, where Hermione deemed their non-paying jobs to be slavery. The house-elves _liked _their work and didn't want to be paid for it. Snape was being paid for his work alright, and his health was taking a hit as a result.

Hermione wished there was something she could do, some way she could make things easier for the professor. But what?

She was still shocked that the two were lying in his bed together, warm and naked and pressed against one another. But experience warned her that if she were to outright offer the professor any sort of help, that he would turn her down. Of course, that had been in the very beginning of their..._relationship,_ and she wondered how things would pan out now that there was more familiarity between the two.

Hermione would venture to say trust, but wasn't sure. Well, she knew that she trusted Snape, but wondered if the sentiment was returned. Of course, he still claimed that her judgment was faulty, and would most likely claim that she was insane to trust him. Fact remained; she did trust the professor. It wasn't something that she could announce to the world, nor to her friends, as the few times where she pointed out that perhaps Snape wasn't so bad, they firmly shot down that notion.

Yes, he had an acerbic tongue, and she would never forget the way that he completely lost his temper with her and her friends back in third year when they helped Sirius Black escape. Although...she and Ron _had_ attacked him, and no doubt Snape had been livid about the whole ordeal, but he still saved their hides. Hermione hated to think about it, but Umbridge kept that mock syrupy smile on her face all the while basically torturing students.

Snape might have yelled at them and even threatened them, but he had never been one to outright harm anyone. Not physically, at least, but Hermione did experience hurt feelings because of the professor. She still didn't know the reasons for many of his actions, and assumed that she might never find out. At least, right at that moment, she knew that it felt right with his arm around her and his long fingers twisting about in her hair.

Several other trite questions were also running through her mind: How did Severus know when it was time to wake up? From previously looking around the room, she knew that there weren't any windows, unless they were covered up. Even if there were windows, she knew that the dungeons were literally exposed to the Black Lake, and that she would be able to see right into the murky green water.

It was no surprise that Severus kept his rooms darkened; ever since she could remember, each of his classes had been conducted in the same foreboding environment. However, under the current circumstances, the room was only lit by glowing embers at the hearth, and the darkness was welcoming. The feel of his naked, warm skin against hers didn't hurt, either.

That very thought was enough to make Hermione want to touch more than just Severus' chest, which was where her hand was currently resting. Besides the sex, Hermione had grown accustomed to sleeping beside Severus. The irony; the wizard that could talk to her without yelling, which she might have preferred compared to that silky yet sinister drawl, which never failed to turn her into a bundle of nerves, helped her to sleep better at night.

Previously, Hermione had never given much thought to share a bed with another person. Admittedly, she felt some level of security when she slept next to Severus, and while his arms were wiry, they felt just right wrapped around her. It had been torture trying to sleep on her own back at Grimmauld Place, as well as in her bed in Gryffindor Tower upon returning to Hogwarts. On more than one occasion, Hermione had woken up in the middle of the night to find herself clutching onto one of her pillows. There had even been an instance where she reached out in her sleep, only for her fingertips to meet with cat hair. Crookshanks had hissed loudly at being prodded out of his sleep, and skulked off to curl back up at the end of her bed to resume his slumber.

Now that she had finally pinned down Severus long enough to make him keep her around, Hermione dreaded the thought of returning to her empty bed back in the dormitory. But she refused to harp on that for long, not when she had her leg thrown over Severus', and her breasts pressed against his side.

Hermione busied herself with tracing her fingertips over his chest, trailing down to his stomach. She couldn't pinch one drop of fat on the wizard, and inwardly joked to herself that she should have the house-elves bring him different types of puddings every day to put some weight on him. But Hermione wouldn't dare make another joke about the professor's slight frame. The last time she had done so, he seemed irritated, and the last thing she wanted to do was unintentionally insult him.

It wasn't as if she had a problem with his wiry body. Weak was something that Severus Snape was not, as demonstrated by the many times he had already lifted her up with the ease one used to lift a book, only to shift her around to his whim. Even so, Hermione knew it was mean to tease someone for the way they looked, as it wasn't something that could be helped. People had always graced her with some comment about her teeth before they had been fixed, or her hair.

Hermione never put much stock into what other people thought about her, although she could have done without the rude remarks. Surprisingly though, the hair clips Lavender had given her were still doing a good job of holding back her curls.

It most likely wouldn't have made a difference even if her hair was all over her head, as it usually tended to do. While Severus had made more than one comment about her messy curls, they hadn't sounded like outright complaints. On top of that, his hand would always find its way to the messy tendrils, allowing them to slip between his fingertips.

Right then his hand was at the back of her head, although it had gone still. Hermione was still in the midst of caressing his chest and stomach, sometimes running her fingertips over the sinews of his left thigh. Severus remained silent as Hermione continued her slow perusal of his body, and it felt as if it was becoming more relaxed beneath her touch.

A quick trip of her hand moving to the center of Severus' thighs showed that other parts of him weren't quite so relaxed. Hermione thought it stupid to feel shy after everything they had already done together, especially after the countless times that she had begged Severus to touch her or kiss her. Despite her shyness, she allowed her hand to curve over the erection that had begun poking at her wrist, gently gripping its head against her palm.

Severus slowly pushed against Hermione's hand, and a soft groan came from his throat when she glided her fingers over his sac. Never ceased to become amazed by the carnal reactions she was able to pull from the usually stoic wizard, Hermione pressed her lips against his chest, tracing along the soft skin and attempting to elicit more of those groans.

Becoming worked up again, Hermione shifted beneath the covers to straddle Severus. Using one hand to support her weight while keeping the other continuously moving over his cock, she placed open-mouthed kisses into his skin, causing him to jerk when her tongue flicked out against one flat nipple.

Severus' narrow hips continued thrashing upward, as if he was waiting for Hermione to move lower. She did just that and kept the covers over her head while moving further down on the bed. Soon as she closed her mouth over the swollen head of his erection, a sibilant hiss of pleasure erupted into the quiet bedroom.

The taste of her own juices remained on his skin, although it wasn't off-putting. The only thing Hermione wanted, no, _needed, _at that moment for was Severus to come undone for her, just as she had for him, first in the hidden alcove, and later on top of his desk.

While her lips and tongue licked and sucked at every inch of him, her hands roamed over Severus' stomach and thighs. The jerky movements of his hips combined with the stifled moans sent a rush to her head, and Hermione wondered how it would be to finish the wizard off with her mouth.

One of his hands had slipped beneath the covers and held onto the back of Hermione's neck and her head continued bobbing up and down. It was becoming warm and a bit humid with the sheets and duvet completely over her head, and Hermione was sure that her hair was beginning to swell to unimaginable proportions, but it wasn't enough to make her want to stop.

Severus had grown quite vocal, and each time his lips lunged forward to thrust into the warm cavern of the witch's mouth, his thighs gently batted the underside of Hermione's jaw. She was doing her best to ignore her gag reflex, but if he shoved himself too far into the back of her throat like he already had a couple of times...

Her worries were short-lived, as the bed sheets were suddenly lifted from her head, and a gust of cool air swept over her face. Hermione barely had the chance to sigh in relief when Severus sat up and grabbed her by the shoulders. The only thing she was able to see was a dark blur of him moving in front of her eyes as he effectively pressed her back onto the mattress and settled himself on top of her.

Hermione hadn't expected for Severus to pull her away while she was in the middle of orally pleasuring him. But typically he tended to move with a swiftness that she was becoming used to. She still wasn't thrilled by the fact that it was hard to take in the complete sight of Severus. He was partially hovered over her while his lower body remained in the cradle of her hips. The mattress creaked and groaned each time he moved, finally going silent as the wizard slid down her body and came to a halt.

She wondered if he was able to see her through the dark room, as his burning gaze was nearly palpable. Countless times, Hermione had stood beneath the glaring appraisal of the professor's eyes; when she gave one of her usual drawn out answers in class, or when he suspected that she and her friends were lying to him about something. Of course they had been, as most of their 'adventures' consisted of lying through their teeth, no matter that the ends usually justified the means. Even though Hermione had been sure that Snape had no proof at the time, there had always been some part of her that suspected that the wizard knew for certain he had been lied to. As Head of Slytherin House for so many years, even if he didn't have those generously formed nostrils, Snape would still have been master at sniffing out untruths. And it had been obvious that the professor wanted to assign them all so much detention that they would run the risk of serving it until they were grey-haired.

Each time something had transpired, she had found it hard to look Snape in the eye, knowing that the words _liar, liar, liar,_ were most likely flashing through his head like some tawdry neon sign in a shop window that sold cheap goods, as she, Ron and Harry passed him in the halls. Hermione had always hated lying and rarely did so, purely because the guilt she felt afterwards continued to eat at her. Of course, having Ron and Harry for best friends entailed that omitting truths was part and parcel of their friendship. Certain things wouldn't have panned out without a few well-placed fibs. And certain things definitely wouldn't be taking place, such as the naked wizard who was now rubbing his erection across the apex of her thighs.

Lying beneath his silent assessment, Hermione slipped her arms around Severus and ran her fingertips along his narrow flanks. For whatever reason, he wasn't speaking, although Hermione found that she wasn't disconcerted by the silence.

The shaft of his cock was aligned with the seam of her cleft, and each time Hermione moved her hips, she could feel the underside of it grazing her clit. Wanting more friction, she pulled Severus against her and tried to direct his body against hers, only she was still wet from earlier and his cock slid down and became partially embedded in her slick heat.

"Ow," Hermione hissed while flinching at the renewed pain. Her walls were still tender from the onslaught of her and Severus' frantic coupling from earlier, and it made her dig her fingers into his side.

"Should I stop?" he asked, pulling back to relieve some of the pressure between her legs.

"No..." Hermione murmured, loosening her grip and urging Severus to continue. "I'll be fine, just don't go too fast, please."

Severus knew that he could move slowly if needed, and did just that. Sinking in to the hilt until his balls were pressed against Hermione's clenched buttocks, he felt the witch squirm uncomfortably beneath him for a second, but gradually she allowed her body to relax.

"Severus?"

Snape knew that tone, even if his name was uttered in a soft and compliant voice.

"Yes?"

"What was the spell you used earlier? You know, the one on my hands?"

Snape could hardly believe that of all times, Hermione was now choosing to ask him such a question. Despite the fact that he was deeply buried in the most intimate part of her body, in a very warm and inviting place, it hadn't stopped her proverbial swottiness from rearing its head.

Still, he was unable to resist taunting her. "What spell?"

"You know very well what sodding spell."

"Your timing is ridiculous, Hermione, do you know that?" Snape grunted, grasping onto her right thigh for leverage and slightly thrusting forward. "Could you truly not wait another thirty minutes or so before bombarding me with questions?"

Hermione had just let out a soft moan from another thrust of Severus' hips, although it wasn't enough to completely put her off her quest for knowledge of the unknown spell.

"I just want to know, is all."

Hermione might have been asking Snape to kiss her, by the way she had sweetly posed her inquiry. Trust her to wait until he was distracted by more pleasurable pursuits to ask about the intricacies of certain questionable branches of magic.

"I regret to inform you that I will not be divulging that information," he growled with another jerk of his hips.

"Severus!" Hermione moaned, sharply arching her back at the acute sensation that the action sent throughout her body. "You don't regret anything, and you know it."

Brown eyes flashed angrily up at him in the dark, although lust was clearly housed behind that anger.

"And _you _aren't as crafty as you believe yourself to be," he chuckled. "What were you, waiting for the opportune moment to inundate me with questions?"

Right at that moment, Snape pulled Hermione closer against him and began working his hips in slow circles, allowing his pubic bone to mash against her now engorged clitoris.

"I would _never—" _ Hermione began, just as she cut herself off with a slight gasp. "It feels good and I want you to keep going, but it's still pinching a bit," she confessed, shrinking back to avoid some of the pain.

Snape knew that he had the tendency to behaving like an arse at times, but he was unable to behave pitilessly towards the witch, who was all soft and eagerness as she willingly lay in his bed.

"Move all the way up," he said after pulling out of her body. His cock was slick with her moisture and left traces of the sticky fluid against his thigh, yet he did his damndest to ignore that for a moment.

Once Hermione was laying back down, with most of her wild curls trapped between her and the headboard, Snape moved all the pillows from behind her head and left her lying flat. He then took one pillow and slipping a hand beneath her bum, helping Hermione to raise her hips and shoving the pillow into place. His erection was far from waning, and kneeling again between the witch's splayed thighs, he slowly pressed himself back into place.

The new angle was infinitely better, and Hermione softly inhaled as she was once more stretched and filled to completion. It only took about a dozen of those methodical thrusts before she firmly ensnared Severus' slim waist with both legs, urging him to lie closer against her and at the same time, to move faster.

Snape lowered himself until Hermione's breasts were mashed against his chest. He continued thrusting into her at a leisurely pace, enduring the soft heels that were digging and clamoring for purchase against the small of his back. Hermione's breath was hard and quick against his cheek, and even though her hair was partially obscuring her face, he could see that her lips were shaped into a small 'o'. Her fingers had been twisting themselves into the sheets on either side of the bed, but when Snape began a more forceful ingress into her body, Hermione's hastened breathing turned into high moans. Fingers that had once been white at the knuckle from gripping onto the sheets were now clutching onto fistfuls of black hair, and Snape thought that he would end up with two uneven bald patches at the rate the young witch was going.

Ignoring the pain of the threat of his hair being ripped from its roots, Snape continued ploughing into the girl, only pausing to prise her legs from around his waist to place them on his shoulders. Once Hermione's ankles were by his ears, and his hands firmly around her waist, Snape carried on with a rhythm that soon had the witch screaming to the rafters as she came apart.

Snape held off from his own release, as he intended on their second round lasting longer than the first. Hermione had gone limp beneath him from her orgasm. Although her walls still pulsated and throbbed around him, her limbs had fallen slack and her legs slid down from his shoulders, landing unceremoniously back onto the bed.

"I'm not done with you yet, witch," Snape muttered, brushing his lips against Hermione's when it looked as if she was well on her way to sleep.

"I should hope not," she replied in a relaxed voice as her hands sluggishly hands made their way to his chest.

Snape wondered if Hermione really was going to fall asleep with him still firmly embedded in her, although when he parted his lips and pressed them to hers, she opened her mouth and engaged him in an eager kiss. Their kiss was slow and deep, and Hermione's left hand crept towards the back of Severus' head, idly stroking his stringy hair while his tongue danced across hers.

"If you aren't done with me, then why are you stopping?" Hermione asked in between kisses, curling one leg around Snape's thigh and cambering her hips against his to make him continue moving.

"Chatty inside the classroom; chatty outside the classroom," he chided while sliding back to rest on his haunches. "Turn over onto your stomach."

Obeying without uttering a word, Hermione did as she was told and turned over. The pillow was still beneath her and pressing into her abdomen, only Snape grabbed her hips and pulled up onto her knees and elbows. There came a rustle of the bed clothes being shifted as he leaned over her, sliding his hands up her forearms until he reached her hands.

Hermione had been holding onto the edge of the mattress when Snape pried her hands loose, lifting and placing them to either side of her head, palm-side down against the smooth wooden headboard. Unconsciously shivering at the memory of the way he bound her hands to the castle wall, Hermione shifted her head to the side.

"Are you going to tell me now?" she asked, lifting her head up to try and look over her shoulder.

Severus couldn't help the smirk that appeared on his lips. "_No_, Miss Granger, I will not."

"Why not?"

_Cheeky thing._ "Because I have you bent before me in a most inviting position, and I can think of at least fifteen other things that I would prefer at the moment, none of which entail satisfying your swotty little curiosity."

Hermione had just opened her mouth to protest when Snape slid his fingers through the back of her hair and pressed her head back down onto the bed.

"Don't argue with me. If I told you, then you would have half of your insipid little friends fastened to varying surfaces, only because they were annoying you from making too much noise and disrupting your studies."

Hermione was silent as she pondered the professor's statement. She would _never _use magic against one of her friends to get her way, although there had been times where she wished they would shut up, as the only tones they knew to speak to one another with consisted of booming and boisterous. Then again, she _had_ used a Confundus Charm against that dolt, McLaggen, during Quidditch trials...

Maybe Snape had a point.

"Now, be quiet," he told her in what she deemed his 'teacher voice'.

"Alright. And it's _Hermione._"

A low chuckle was heard in the dark room, although Hermione relented and fell silent. Snape began tracing his fingertips over the nape of her neck, moving down the slender column of her spine. Keeping one hand flat against the small of Hermione's back, he used the other to smooth over each rounded buttock before sliding down to her sodden cleft.

All it had taken was a hint of Snape's callused fingertips against her skin and Hermione spread her thighs with what would have been shameful alacrity, had she been bothered enough to feel embarrassed. But the idea of her naked and kneeling in Severus' bed in the dark of his bedroom was delicious and thrilling, and it made Hermione push her hips back to meet his hand while moaning her pleasure into the sheets.

Long, potions-worn digits plied and kneaded the fleshly globes of her arse, and the feel of Severus' warm palms running over her skin sent her vacillating between melting into the bed and wanting to scream for her to touch her fully.

It didn't take long for Hermione to find that Snape had, once again, secured her hands, only this time it was to his headboard. Instinctively she had tried to clutch onto something when his fingers teased her entrance, and Hermione quickly found that she wasn't able to move more than her fingertips.

She had half a mind to mutter _show-off_ for yet another impressive display of non-verbal and wandless magic from the professor, but was too caught up in the sensations that were now taking hold of her body.

The one time she had knelt before Snape, right before he licked her to orgasm, Hermione remembered that he had referred to her as a kitten. The moans now leaving her mouth were nearly worth of her own House's blazon, and most definitely did not match those of a small cat.

At some point, Snape had moved completely behind her, and Hermione was able to feel his hooked nose grazing against the backs of her thighs. His lips and teeth lightly nipped at her quivering flesh, and four fingers brushed against her mons while the pad of his thumb teased the swollen bud.

Hermione was so worked up, she incoherently reasoned that Severus could breathe on her, and it would most likely be enough to send her over the edge.

The notion wasn't that far off. Snape's lissome thumb continued moving in maddeningly slow, tight circles around her clitoris, and soon Hermione felt herself teetering the edge of climax. Although her perception was muddled, she felt one wiry arm moving between her legs and coming to a stop at her breasts.

It was too much; the feel of Severus diddling her clit while his other hand pinched and plucked at her right nipple drove her insane with pleasure. Suddenly, his fingers pinched down hard on her nipple, and it sent a forceful jolt straight between her legs. If there had been any long nails left on Hermione's hands, they were definitely gone by now, for when she erupted into a forceful release, the headboard was the only thing her fingers were able to make purchase with.

Snape's hand was completely soaked from Hermione's release, although it didn't stop him from kneeling upright behind her and grabbing onto her waist. The witch was still trembling when he pushed back into her snug channel, and the feel of her throbbing walls made him cry out.

If Snape was holding too tightly onto her, if his sharp hipbones were uncomfortable each time he lunged forward, Hermione was too far gone to notice. Almost immediately she had begun a loud keening that would have most definitely alerted anyone within earshot that someone was enjoying themselves. Ranging between screaming and crying and cursing, Hermione fervently thrust back to meet Severus' cock, never wanting the feel of him moving inside her to end.

His moans nearly matched the wildly writhing witch's as he continued filling her with long, hard strokes. Hermione was beyond merely whimpering her pleasure into his mattress; she filled his normally cold and stark silent room with shrill, raw sounding cries that just might have been able to break glass.

Just as Snape angled his hips slightly downwards to press against another spot that he knew Hermione liked, the witch was barely able to stammer out his name before she erupted into another orgasm that made her tremble from head to toe.

"S-Severus!" she moaned, right before her legs gave out and caused her to collapse against the bed.

"Remember— you didn't want me to stop," Snape informed, although his own breath was coming short.

Hermione could barely form a coherent reply as the wizard then straddled the backs of her thighs, before fully sinking into her once more. Her hands were still bound to his damned headboard, but even if they weren't, Hermione had no intention of trying to get away. Everything felt too good, to the point where it was almost surreal.

Snape's thatch of pubic hair was firmly pressed against her behind with each of his forceful thrusts. If his bed was silent before, it certainly wasn't now, as the headboard made a short rapping noise each time it struck the wall.

Hermione wasn't the only one losing her head; Snape had rested his arms on top of hers, and his slims fingers encircled her wrists, clenching tightly each time he lunged forward. By that time, the wizard displayed that if aroused enough, he could have a filthy mouth. Soon after, his fingers were on top of Hermione's and nearly woven with her splayed and strained digits.

There were no words to describe the way Hermione felt to hear Severus uttering in her ear the things he wanted to do to her in that rich, deep voice, while his cock sensuously filled her. In between each lascivious declaration, Severus' mouth did wonderful things to her shoulder and the nape of her neck, and Hermione almost wished that she was in another position so she would able to kiss him.

"That's it; you're nearly there, aren't you?" he crooned in a baritone that sounded just a bit ragged. "Aren't you, Hermione?"

_"Yess!"_ she hissed, feeling a ball of heat forming in the pit of her stomach. "Don't stop, please, don't stop!"

"Hadn't planned on it," Severus grunted as he picked up the pace.

Just when he wasn't sure if Hermione's screams could grow louder, he was proved wrong. His eardrums were in danger of bursting, and her body bucked so wildly that it nearly threw him off. Of course, he picked a most opportune moment to lift the binding spell off her hands, and Hermione's fingers clamped down onto his, nearly popping his knuckles out of place.

Hermione would have attacked his other hand had it not gone down to her hip, where he attempted to keep the witch lying flat on the bed. Swear words dripped from his lips and became lost into the damp, frizzy cloud of her curls, although the passion-bridled witch never noticed a thing. She was too caught up in the maelstrom of her own orgasm, as it sent her running from cold to hot, then hotter, until it was as if a furnace had been placed against her.

Screaming her throat raw until her cries ran silent, Hermione tensed beneath Snape right before more waves of pleasure ripped through her. It had become increasingly hard to breathe, but now all of her air was trapped in her chest, and Hermione didn't realise that she'd been holding her breath until her pounding heart announced its presence.

Every part of her felt as if it were throbbing and twitching; even her fingertips, ragged and uneven broken pink fingernails, and eyelashes seemed to have a pulse. Dimly registering that Severus was still thrusting into her throughout her entire climax, she suddenly felt the hand that had been holding onto her slip beneath her and around her waist.

Slim fingers were now grazing the curls at the top of her sex, before moving down a fraction of an inch. The positioning was a bit awkward but the results were plentiful; all it took was a few tugs for him to stimulate the hood of her clitoris, and again, Hermione exploded with absurd ease.

The tip of his cock had been pressing into her almost at the threshold of discomfort, but Hermione found that it was a good pain, and it heightened her orgasm.

Just as she began wondering if the wizard was taking his revenge on her through sex, perhaps planning on killing her with multiple orgasms as payback for all of the trouble she had given him over the past few years, Snape's wiry arm tightened around her body and he imperiously held onto Hermione as if he had no intention of letting go.

His narrow hips jerked and hitched against Hermione's as he furiously erupted into her body. That filthy mouth had returned, although most of his words were guttural-sounding and mingled with her name, all of them becoming muffled against her damp curls. Snape ejaculated in gush that she literally felt, and only when the pulsing of his cock waned, did he allow himself to collapse on top of her.

Hermione's throat ached and was parched from screaming. The sheets beneath her felt wet from sweat and come, and Severus' sharp-jointed knee was pressing uncomfortably into her thigh. But the feel of him wrapped around her was too good for her to think about asking him to move. His hand had moved from her waist to her breast, and it was silent enough in the room that she was able to hear the blood rushing in her ears.

Snape could feel Hermione's heart racing against the palm of his hand, although his own was doing the same. At some point they both turned onto their sides and lie pressed against one another, waiting for their panting breaths to even out. It was a toss-up as to who was more worn out, but just as Hermione found herself on the brink of sleep again, a loud snore behind her told her that Severus lost that battle.

* * *

Slim fingers traced down and over the delicate curve of Hermione's back. It was a while before she stirred awake, and another minute before she remembered that she had fallen asleep in Severus' arms. Now she was sprawled out on her stomach, and Severus' fingers, along with her frizzy curls, were tickling her bare shoulder.

Her head had been facing in the other direction, and she turned to look at Severus, finding that he was lying beside her, both of them covered with the duvet from the waist down. Although he looked like the picture of comfort as his fingers idly moved across her skin, Hermione was able to see those black eyes appraising her in the dark, and she hoped that he wasn't having second thoughts like before.

"Alright?" he asked, finally breaking the silence.

Hermione opened her mouth to answer 'yes', but her words came out sounding croaky, and she coughed to clear her throat. "Yes," she managed to get out after swallowing. "But I think I need some water."

With a small nod, Snape withdrew his hand and pushed the blankets off his legs to climb out of bed. Hermione didn't lift her head to see where he had gone, all she knew was that he had definitely left the room.

_Goodness,_ she thought of her aching body as she turned over. Between her legs was tender, and every inch of her protested at the movement, and she got as far as rolling over onto her side. Her hair had taken a hit and was all over the pillow and her face, and Hermione weakly chuckled as she tried to imagine what she looked like. Crookshanks probably looked neater than her, and he should, considering the way he loved to tuck away in a corner and groom himself for hours. Still, she was too knackered to even lift a hand to brush the curls out of her face, and she never noticed Snape when he came back into the bedroom.

"Here," he said, sitting back down on the bed and holding out a goblet.

Hermione winced as she pushed herself upright to take the goblet. Looking around, she saw that the room was marginally brighter from a few lit candles strewn about. Gratefully accepting the drink, Hermione took a large swallow, and what she expected to be water turned out to be something else— something sweeter and stronger.

"Thank you. Elderflower wine? I would have taken you for the firewhisky sort."

"Never liked the stuff," Snape replied, moving back and arranging the pillows behind him. "Don't know how anyone willingly drinks it, to be honest. I don't relish a drink that feels like a slice of hell on the way down, only for it to feel as if it's going to rot a hole in my stomach once it's there."

"I agree, which is why I don't drink it, either."

"Your little friends do," Snape pointed out. "Makes me wonder if they were trying to prove something."

Hermione grimaced at the memory of a drunken, sweaty Ron falling into her lap, with an equally drunk and sweaty Harry laughing and standing nearby.

"Surprisingly enough, your very own Head of House gave me that bottle for Christmas."

Hermione nearly choked on the small mouthful she had just taken. Professor McGonagall gave Snape a bottle of wine? That was interesting...

"Professor McGonagall?" Hermione echoed dumbly.

"Yes, as well as the headmaster. And Slughorn, and Rosmerta."

"Madam Rosmerta? From the Three Broomsticks?"

"That would be the one."

Hermione drained her goblet and looked around for a place to sit it. Snape took it from her and levitated it over his shoulder, where it hovered and then lowered itself down to his bedside table.

"Is that so shocking? Rosmerta owns a pub and is usually in need of large quantities of sobering potions. Inebriated, bawdy customers and the like."

"Wish she had given some to Slughorn when we visited," Hermione muttered under her breath. "He spilled half his drink on top of my head."

"That's because the idiot can't hold his liquor; he never could," Snape offered with a scoff, remembering what his old Head of House used to be like on the weekend during his old school days. "Hagrid sent over a box of what I presume to be some sort of biscuits."

"If you value your teeth, you won't eat them," Hermione told him. She felt badly for pointing out the gamekeeper's poor baking skills, but it wasn't as if she was lying. Meanwhile, she was still trying to wrap her head around the idea that Madam Rosmerta as well as the other professors had given Severus Christmas presents. On top of that, he was now picking up said bottle and refilling the goblet, drawing deeply from it before handing it back to Hermione.

She could scarcely believe that she was sitting completely naked in the professor's bed, save for the sheet draped across her legs and protecting the sliver of modesty that remained, while sharing a goblet of wine. It made him seem...human, like anyone else. Normal, even, she would venture to say.

"Spit it out, Granger. Your thoughts are ruining the silence. Remember when I told you that I prefer silence in my bedroom?"

"_Hermione._ And I just...well, I didn't know that you and the other teachers were, you know..."

"Chummy, is what I assume you're getting at, and I suppose you are correct on some level. Although my colleagues know that I prefer solitude."

Hermione had just drained the second goblet of wine, and felt completely relaxed. She could have been a feather, drifting along the breeze in some grassy meadow, she felt so buoyant.

"So it seems that broody isn't the only hat you wear. But I guess I don't blame you for wanting a bit of privacy," she prattled on after releasing a wide yawn. "If I were you, I might have run for the hills a long time ago."

Snape remained silent as Hermione handed him the empty goblet and curled up at his side. The witch was still innocent in many other ways, and unaware of many complications in his life. As it was, he saw no reason to make her privy to such information, but her statement made him want to laugh bitterly.

There had been times where he thought about leaving everything behind, but at the end of the day, up until now, everything he had done would have been for naught. And he had never been a person to run from anything. But he was only human, and able to take so much before wondering just when he would reach his breaking point. Hermione had just turned eighteen at the start of that school term, and already she had faced more than what some adult wizards had faced their entire lives. And yet, she was still carrying on with that damnably determined Gryffindor resolve.

Part of getting through it all was to not give certain things too much thought. The future was uncertain; that much was evident. It served no purpose to dwell upon what might or might not happen, as tomorrow wasn't promised to any of them, no matter whose side they were on.

At the moment, Hermione didn't seem to be remotely fazed by any of the impending doom and gloom. She and Severus were naked as they had been an hour ago, and now the witch had slithered her way over to his side of the bed, and plopped her head down onto his duvet covered thigh.

Snape was peering down at the girl that was laying on him, her disheveled hair going every which way and surrounding her head like some sort of fuzzy halo. He wasn't smiling, although one would never actually find him smiling unless he was about to dole out punishment.

That moot point didn't matter to Hermione. She knew Severus wasn't the smile-like-a-Clabbert type, and if she had in fact come across him, grinning widely, immediately she would have suspected something. No, she was accustomed to his stern features, as well as the lank black hair that was now falling over his face as he looked down at her.

"Thinking of a way to sneak back into Gryffindor Tower?"

"No...why? Trying to get rid of me already?" she cheekily replied.

Snape gave a little snort and ran a hand through the tangle of her curls. "I assumed you would need to get back and have a proper sleep before leaving in the morning."

Hermione let out another yawn and lifted her head so Snape could free the curls trapped beneath. "I'm not going home for Christmas," she said. "And I'm not going to the Burrow with Ron and Harry. Mum and Dad wanted me to come home, but thought it might be best if I stay here...you know, in light of everything that happened this summer."

Snape said nothing, but continued carding his fingers through her hair.

"Will you be here?"

His hand paused, as if it was contingent upon him answering the question.

"I should be," he finally replied, resuming twirling the frizzy curls around his middle finger.

"Will I be able to see you?"

As much as he wanted to say no, Snape was unable to. Besides, he knew that Hermione would somehow find a way to corner him off in a classroom, or follow him until he conceded to her whims. It had been a miracle that no one noticed anything as of yet.

"I should be telling you no," he answered, "but we both know that that isn't going to happen. Do you think you will be able to remain discreet?"

Hermione looked up seriously at Severus and nodded her head. "I'll be careful," she promised.

"You had better. I must admit, I'm still curious to know how you plan on sneaking back into the dormitories."

Hermione merely curled into a tighter ball beneath the duvet, and her eyes were already sliding shut from wine and exhaustion. "I..." she trailed off after another yawn took hold. "I left my bed hangings closed; I didn't want anyone to bother Crooks."

"Your wayward familiar," Snape cut in, which Hermione ignored.

"They'll think that I'm asleep, and I can slip back inside in the morning. I just have to Disillusion myself and wait for someone to go through the portrait hole."

"It sounds as if you have everything sorted."

"For the most part," she murmured, already halfway to sleep. "Lie down with me."

Snape did as Hermione asked, and her bushy head took its usual spot on top of his chest.

"I still never pegged you for the naked and drinking wine in bed sort," she giggled sleepily into his skin.

"Why, are my host skills not up to par? Should I have offered biscuits as well?"

"Wise-arse. No, not if Hagrid's rock cakes were the only ones you have."

"Unfortunately they are, but your preference has been duly noted. Now, go to sleep. I'll wake you up in the morning."

"How the hell do you know when it's time to wake up in here? It's so dark and you can't see the sun..."

"Hermione."

"Hmm?"

Snape's hand came down in front of her face and two thin fingers pinched her lips together._ "Be quiet."_

She was about to reply 'alright', but between her wine-muddled mind and the long fingers holding onto her lips, Hermione mumbled some semblance of a reply before falling into a light snore.

* * *

**_Please make love to my review button, she gets so lonely. Hey, does anyone know of a site for folks to post their original writing? I know of fiction press already but I'm still on the lookout for other websites. Thank you~! _**


	21. Chapter 21

**_A/N: Sorry for the delay, I have the damn flu and I've been coughing so much that I gave myself a headache. I feel so crappy that I can't even be witty right now, so hopefully this chapter is up to par. Thank you for the alerts, reviews, favorites, pointing out my typos, I don't mind the extra pair of eyes! Okay, back to bed for me. The 10th Doctor and Martha are keeping me company._**

* * *

The next morning, Hermione bit back every complaint that rattled around inside of her still muddled brain. The last thing she felt like doing was slipping out of the warm comfort of Severus' arms and his bed, but fact remained: she had to get back to Gryffindor Tower.

As promised, Snape had prodded her awake in the wee hours of the morning. It had been strange to get out of bed and still find herself in the dark, but she couldn't be bothered to ask for the time.

Somehow managing to pull herself from his embrace, Hermione got dressed and collected her things. Snape cast the Disillusion Charm, and she was too sleepy to protest and point out that she could do it herself. However, she did convince Severus to see her later on that night, if permissible, and he agreed before walking her to the door.

The whole business of walking back to Gryffindor Tower felt very cloak-and-dagger, even if the corridors were empty. Once Hermione was out of the dungeons, she could see pale early morning light shining in through the windows. The portraits lining the walls had not even bothered waking up yet, though it wouldn't have mattered, as Hermione was invisible to anyone that might have crossed her path.

Getting back through the portrait hole also proved to be easier than Hermione thought. She lifted the charm long enough for the Fat Lady to see who was approaching her portrait. It was early enough that it was permissible for Hermione to be out of the dormitories without it looking suspicious. The Fat Lady had been used to Hermione's odd hours that she kept, which were usually for studying, and she barely cracked an eye as she swung open her frame. Pausing in the darkened and narrow space, Hermione awkwardly placed the charm back upon herself and tiptoed out the other end, quietly making her way up to the dormitory.

As suspected, everyone was still tucked away in bed, hidden behind its thick hangings. Stripped out of her stale party dress and into a nightgown within the span of a minute, Hermione was soon beneath her own flannel sheets, listening to her housemates around her snoring. Even Crookshanks hadn't budged from his spot at the foot of the bed when the mattress dipped down beneath her weight.

As tired as she still felt, Hermione did not want to sleep. While her flannel sheets were thick and heavy, the bed was cold from being unoccupied for so many hours, not to mention that she suddenly felt incredibly alone.

Hermione knew it was pointless to harp on silly sentiments, but even within the ten minutes that she was separated from Severus, she found that she missed him already. Nevertheless, entertaining the thought of spending more time with him was futile; it had been a miracle that she spent the entire night with him and then snuck back to the dormitories without a hitting a snag.

Oh, how it had been worth it, though.

The only thing that gave a bit of levity to the situation was that Hermione knew she was going to see Severus later on that evening. The intricacies of carrying out said meeting had not actually been figured out, but like always, things would sort itself.

First, Hermione vowed to take a long, hot bath at some point before starting her day. A lack of physical intimacy with the professor for several months had made her forget how taxing it was on the body. She was sore all over, and while it was a good ache, it was an ache nonetheless, and she looked forward to having a long soak in the prefects' bath. She would have tried to coerce Severus into taking a shower with her before leaving, as she remembered the one and only shower they had taken together at Grimmauld Place. But there hadn't been time that morning, as she needed to get back to her room.

Yawning and burrowing further beneath the covers, Hermione briefly wondered if Severus was missing her presence, as she was his, before drifting back off to sleep.

"Ron, don't you have anything better to do than hang about in our face?" Ginny calmly asked her brother, who had been about to squeeze himself between her and Harry on the sofa.

The Gryffindor common room was filled with the excited chattering of students whom were waiting to be called down to the entrance hall to leave for the Christmas holiday. Everyone had to dodge around packed trunks, cases, and cages holding pets, and the room felt smaller than usual with the extra things lying about.

Even though Ron, Ginny, and Harry were going to the same place together, Ron, for some reason, did not feel the need to give his best friend and baby sister a modicum of peace that morning. On top of that, Harry had been trying to tell Hermione and Ron something about Draco Malfoy, as he was toying with the idea that the young Slytherin was in cahoots with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Death Eaters.

That idea sounded a bit silly to Hermione, but she had to admit that Malfoy had seemed a bit off ever since the start of school. While he carried on with haranguing her and her friends, Hermione suspected it was more for show as it usually occurred when Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson were nearby. However, once they had turned away, Malfoy went right back to appearing moody and withdrawn. Instead of looking haughty, he looked stressed, and if he became any paler, then he just might be able to pass for one of the ghosts at Hogwarts.

For some reason, an uncharacteristically and focused Draco Malfoy seemed more disturbing than a usually rude and spiteful one. This was why Hermione still listened to Harry that morning, even if his claim seemed a tad outrageous.

The three hadn't been able to get into a deep conversation, as the common room had been too crowded, thus risking the chance of someone overhearing. Harry vowed that he would try to find out more from the adults in the Order over the holiday, and they left it at that.

"I'm serious, Ron, _shift_," Ginny continued complaining. "Where is Lav-Lav? Shouldn't you two be off in a corner for a farewell suffocating, I mean, snog?"

"Ha-ha. She's still packing," Ron grumbled, finally giving up and flopping down into an empty chair across from them. "Parvati's helping her; dunno what's taking so long."

"Lavender has more shoes than the four of us put together," Hermione laughed. "She's probably trying to fit everything into her trunk, although Merlin knows why. It's not like she'll be gone for a month."

The last when Hermione had been upstairs in the dormitories, Lavender had still been alone, and was red-faced and angry, deep in the middle of a heated row with her flung open and stuffed-to-the-brim trunk. Brightly wrapped boxes were hastily strewn about on her rumpled bed, and Hermione surmised that they were Christmas gifts the witch was attempting to take home. After issuing a round of insults at her trunk, Hermione had been tempted to ask Lavender if it answered back, then was about to suggest that the witch shrink everything for more convenience. But the look on Lavender's face showed that anyone who risked uttering so much as a single word in her direction, would also feel the same wrath her trunk was facing.

"Ugh, finally!" Lavender's shrill voice cried out, followed by the loud thumping of her trunk being dragged down the steps. "I don't know why I didn't use a shrinking charm in the first place; could have saved myself from all that trouble!"

"Perhaps," Hermione replied, doing her best to keep a straight face.

"Ron, can you please carry my trunk for me?" Lavender suddenly asked in a sugarcoated voice.

Ron looked as if he was relieved that the witch hadn't referred to him as 'Won-Won', and he immediately got up and lugged her heavy trunk to the other side of the room. It was only natural that she then pulled him out of the portrait hole, most likely to thank him, and as Ginny suggested, give him a farewell snog.

"Right," Harry said, shaking his head as he watched the blonde witch forcefully pulling the redhead out of the room. "So, Hermione, are you sure you're going to be alright here on your own? It's not too late for you to come with us, you know."

"No, no, I'll be fine," she answered. "I'm sorry that I won't be around to keep Ron out of you and Ginny's hair, but I have a lot of work I need to catch up on, anyway."

That was a lie; Hermione was all caught up on her schoolwork, although nowadays, she seemed to never have done enough revision. Just then, a sudden thought struck her mind, and Hermione instantly began feigning cool.

"Harry, do you still have your Marauder's Map?"

"Yeah; why?"

_Damn, I hope he doesn't get suspicious. _"Could I borrow it while you're at the Burrow?"

Just as Harry opened his mouth, hopefully to say yes, Ron, who had suddenly reappeared in the common room sans Lavender, cut across with a laugh.

"What're you gonna do, have a shufti in the Restricted Section?" he chortled. "What are you trying to find out now?"

"Be quiet, Ronald," Hermione snapped before turning back to Harry. "Can I?"

"Yeah, just mind that you take care of it. Hang on, it's buried at the bottom of my trunk but I'll dig it out for you," he replied, thankfully without any further prodding.

Hermione had already stood up and began making her way to the front of the common room. "No, I'll get it," she said, holding a hand out for Harry to stay in his seat.

Harry didn't mind, as he didn't feel like getting up, and he turned his head to continue his conversation with Ginny. It didn't take long for Hermione to pick out Harry's trunk, as it had his initials on the side, plus a few Quidditch stickers. She stooped down to pop the latch. One of the figures in the stick above the latch had been preening about in its golden background, hovering midair on a broom when he caught sight of the curly-haired witch.

"Oh, honestly," Hermione groaned when the player, who had been posed with an outstretched arm as if he was right about to catch the Snitch, turned his head and winked at her. "I've had enough of you Quidditch Players to last a lifetime; the last thing I need is a miniature one trying to chat me up."

Harry's trunk was a mishmash of unfolded clothes, dirty socks, empty sweets wrappers, and there was a fuzz-covered lump of something brown and sticky-looking in a corner that Hermione was unable to identify. Wondering if she should use the handle of her wand to sort through the mess, she quickly discarded that notion, not wanting to break it or cover it with the mysterious sticky blob . Finally she unearthed the map, which had been buried between the folds of two wrinkled jumpers.

"Harry, you ought to be ashamed for your trunk looking like this," Hermione called across the room, still frowning at the sticker Quidditch player who was now making kissy faces at her. "And why are your Quidditch stickers making googly eyes at me?"

"He doesn't make eyes at Harry or anyone else," Seamus replied, laughing. He had been on his way out of the common room and was standing next to her with one hand on the door. "I reckon he likes you."

Hermione rolled her eyes as Seamus continued chuckling. Ignoring him and the flirty sticker, she rose and went up to the dormitory to tuck the map away in her trunk. The last thing she needed was for Harry to take a peek at his map and find her dot in close proximity with the dot that read 'Severus Snape'. There would be no explaining that, especially if she happened to be in the dungeons for all hours during the night.

Gryffindor Tower was soon emptied, as McGonagall came inside in a bustle of thick woolen robes to usher students down to the entrance hall. Hermione walked down with everyone to see them off. Finally, Filch shut the heavy castle doors with an air of relief, and went on his way, muttering something under his breath in a croaky voice and stroking Mrs Norris.

Remembering that she had left her own cat back in the dormitory, who was now sure to be prowling about in search of breakfast, Hermione made her way back to Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

Students had been shocked to see their Head of House striding into the Slytherin Common Room that morning. It wasn't often that Snape had to make an appearance, as at the start of each term, he told all students who weren't familiar with him that he refused to stand for any nonsense within his House. Therefore, rare were the occasions where he actually had to show face.

However, Draco hadn't come to his office that morning as requested, and Snape was irritated when he had to go out of his way to find the younger Malfoy.

Snape didn't have to go far. While a few students were lingering around the common room, they were all off to the other side engrossed in conversation. Draco had been alone and perched in an armchair by the fireplace, making it obvious that he was refusing to look up, even though Snape saw a flicker of recognition in his icy grey eyes. Finally, he looked up and immediately cast the professor a derisive glare.

_This boy is treading on thin ice, _Snape fumed inwardly.

No other student had been bold enough to ignore his orders, and then blatantly ignore his presence. The urge snatch the blond wizard up by the scruff of his neck nearly smacked Snape in the face, but he resisted.

"I was not aware that you had a problem with telling time," Snape began in a hushed tone.

Draco scoffed in return. His arm extended over the arm of the chair, and the length of his father's walking stick was in his clutches. Round and round he turned the walking stick, defiantly staring up at his Head of House.

"I don't, _Professor," _Draco replied mockingly.

"Your mother is expecting you, Draco," Snape continued, ignoring the insolence of the younger wizard. He knew why Draco was behaving the way he was, but it still was not an excuse for him to become flippant. Even though he wanted nothing more than to call Draco an ungrateful little cur, and to back him into another literal and figurative corner to force sense in his head, Snape merely gestured for the boy to get out of his chair and carry on.

Snape knew that Narcissa was one of Draco's weak points, and the mention of her was enough for the young wizard to finally uprooted himself and stalk off in the other direction, swinging his father's walking stick back and forth. Snape waited for him outside of the common room, refusing to leave anything to chance. The young man was clearly not pleased to be shadowed as if he was a first year, but Snape was not concerned. He would at least have a week that the boy would be out of his hair, and beneath the watchful eye of his fretful mother.

After he had physically escorted Draco out of Hogwarts and made sure that he boarded the train, Snape headed back to the school with only his heavy thoughts for company.

He hadn't realised how relaxed he felt upon waking up with Hermione curled up next to him. But like always, the comfort was short-lived, as she had to return to Gryffindor Tower. Then, Snape had been waiting for Draco to come to his office, as he asked him to do the night before. He waited around for a half hour before it became plain that the young man wasn't going to show up.

Thoughts of the Unbreakable Vow he made with Narcissa was a main factor in Snape remaining level-headed. If not for that and remembering the tearful look on the witch's face, he would have used different tactics when it came to her willful son.

Now, the only thing he had to do was dodge his colleagues for the week, whom were sure to be cheery and brimming over with Christmas spirit. Had Dumbledore been around, he would wear one of his garishly coloured robes, and McGonagall would have that damned ugly wreath of thistles around her hat. Flitwick was a bit of a nutter when it came to the Christmas tree; in spite of his diminutive size, he threatened anyone that came within five feet of his thee that they would rue the day if one of his ornaments had been touched.

Trelawney was sure to travel to nirvana with her usual multiple bottles of cooking sherry. Chuckling to himself, Snape wondered how Trelawney and Slughorn would get on together over the holiday, seeing as how they both had an affinity for the drink. While Hagrid tended to be clumsy after tossing back a few, he was mostly harmless. Professor Vector, like Snape, chose to keep to herself, and rarely ventured out of her rooms.

Snape would typically make an appearance at Christmas dinner in the Great Hall, after which he would hastily retire to his rooms. When he was young, the holiday held no appeal for him, as his parents weren't the sort to splash out on presents and the like. His mum had tried to make the day special a few times, but eventually she gave up on the whole ordeal, and shortly after, everything else. Eventually, Christmas became just another passing day.

When he was younger, Snape felt somewhat cheated when he compared himself to those who had a 'normal' holiday. Students would go home over the break, returning to school with new clothes and all sorts of shiny trinkets. Snape's parents had barely enough money to purchase the things he needed for school, never mind extravagant gifts. Having to fend for himself, the only thing Snape had focused on was making sure that he was keeping himself fed when he was away from Hogwarts. There had been a few times where he managed to save a few extra Galleons, which he always used to purchase new books. That was the only self-given present he got.

His colleagues did not understand why Snape never made such a fuss over Christmas, or any other joyful occasion for that matter, but they didn't press the issue. Yet he still somehow received gifts.

Snape knew that Dumbledore's mouth was sometimes secure as a rusty gate with a broken latch, merely flapping about in the wind. The headmaster had offered Snape his first taste of elderflower wine when he first came to Hogwarts to teach. Apparently, he remembered that Snape was partial to the mildly sweet drink, as every year after that he received a bottle from the headmaster. Snape strongly suspected that Dumbledore passed along that information to a few of the other professors, as identical bottles of elderflower wine also made its way to his office.

The first time he received a parcel around Christmas, Snape had been highly suspicious. No one ever willingly gave him anything. Even after testing it to make sure that it was not poisoned, it had been a while before he actually drank the wine. Eventually it became habit for the headmaster to have the same bottle delivered every year, and Snape learned to expect it.

At least the wine had been of some use; Hermione definitely enjoyed it, drinking two goblets while lying naked in his bed. The young witch clearly was unable to hold her liquor, as she became quite loose-tongued within a matter of minutes. She would definitely have to be held to a two-glass maximum, lest she leave stumbling out of his room with a hangover. While it had been somewhat amusing watching her two male counterparts falling over each other in Grimmauld Place after downing an entire bottle of firewhisky, there was no way Snape could allow Hermione to roam the castle in the same state.

It had been hard enough to make her move from his bed that morning. Even though Hermione's hair took on life of its own and he had to pick curls out of his eyes before opening them, Snape found that his sleep had been restful.

He had watched Hermione sleep for a few minutes longer before waking her. When she finally sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes, her curls stuck out and she almost resembled a marmoset. Hermione hadn't said much, as she was still half-asleep even in the midst of climbing out of his bed. The only time she spoke was after dressing, and that was to ask if she could see him again that night.

Once Hermione had slipped out of his rooms, Snape found that he was still tired but did not relish the thought of returning to his cold, empty bed. Instead, he went through his usual morning ablutions and corrected essays in his office while waiting for Draco.

Luckily, the second and third years' essays hadn't suffered a lot of damage from his and Hermione's coupling on his desk. Some had become slightly wrinkled, but as a professor for many years, Snape had been handed homework assignments in all sorts of questionable states. Pumpkin juice stains, oily fingerprints from students snacking on crisps, lip gloss, snot, and what he had been sure was the hastily discarded remnants of an earwax-flavoured Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Jelly Bean— all smeared the surfaces of many a parchment.

The students realised very quickly that any materials other than ink marring the surface of any assignments to come across the professor's desk would result in it being burnt on sight, after which they would have to make it up. Typically, there were no repeat offenders, although Crabbe and Goyle were the only two to break that pattern.

Snape had just finished correcting the last essay when he checked the time. Knowing Draco's current penchant for not doing what he was told, Snape had a feeling that the boy wasn't going to show up at his office. His assumptions were correct, thus, the professor had found himself making his way to the Slytherin common room.

By the time he returned to Hogwarts, Snape barely had the chance to settle back down into his armchair when the Dark Mark on his arm began burning. With an air of annoyance, he got back up and threw on his traveling cloak, and banged the door shut behind as he strode out of his chambers.

* * *

Hermione distracted herself the best way she knew how as she counted down the hours until she would see Severus. As planned, she took a wonderfully long bath in the prefects' bath. Hunger finally drove her out of the water, although she knew the Great Hall wasn't opened. A quick trip down to the kitchens, and Hermione met with a Dobby, who was all too happy to send her off with a generous lunch. She was soon comfortably sat in the common room, nibbling on a meal of sandwiches, crisps, and grapes.

It was strange sitting in the there without everyone around, but the silence was welcome. A handful of Gryffindors also stayed behind instead of going home, but they weren't in the common room. Plucking another grape from the bunch and popping it into her mouth, Hermione grew pensive as she chewed.

The week before, she and Ginny had managed to get Harry's illicit Potions text out of his grasp, and on the inside of it read that it was property of the 'Half-blood Prince'. Harry didn't know who that was, neither did she or Ginny. Whoever it was, the person must have been a dodgy character, as Hermione had stolen a glimpse of the scrawling in many of the margins, and was apprehensive.

Whoever the 'Half-blood Prince was' they definitely didn't sound normal. There were all sorts of spells in the book that she had never heard of, and one of them seemed downright barbaric that she was afraid to find out more. Like always, Hermione's curiosity would get the best of her, and she still wanted to know more about the book's previous owner. She hadn't been able to find much at the library thus far, but there was always the restricted section. Now that she had Harry's map, it would make things that much easier.

Putting her plans to the side for the moment, Hermione began thinking of her parents, wondering what they were doing. Her dad usually prepared the Christmas turkey, while her mum prepped everything for the side dishes. By now, her mum was mostly likely fussing that he was doing something wrong, to which Mr. Granger would give her a light slap on the rear, something that always made their daughter cringe.

While Hermione always wished that her father kept the bum-slapping antics to a minimum while she was around, it had always been a good feeling to see her parents happy and in still in love with one another.

The next morning, the Granger family would sit around in their pyjamas while opening gifts. The last Christmas, Hermione's mum had opened one box to reveal a dressing gown that was obviously for a woman. Mr. Granger had loudly claimed that they must have had gotten their gifts mixed up, because he took the dressing gown right out of his wife's hand and slipped it on over his flannel pyjamas. He then proceeded to put a blue Christmas bow on top of his slightly balding head and pranced around the living room, speaking in a high falsetto while mimicking his wife.

Hermione and her mum had laughed until tears ran down their faces. Mrs. Granger had then told her husband that he would be barred from having any Christmas drinks that day, as it was clear that he seemed to already have one too many.

Of course…things were more stressful that year, and likely to not be as light-hearted.

A lone tear ran down Hermione's face, and she hastily lifted a hand to wipe it away. She knew that she had missed her parents, but at that moment, she didn't realise just how much that was.

While they hadn't fully grasped some concepts of the wizarding world, they still listened to whatever Hermione told them. They still preferred her to do some things the Muggle way, but for the most part, her parents were her backbone. Right before leaving for Grimmauld Place during the summer, Hermione got the idea that her parents were terrified for their daughter's safety, although they strove to remain calm, which she figured had been more for her sake.

Hermione had been disappointed to receive her mum's letter, stating that she would prefer it if she remained at school for the holiday. Hermione had sent an owl back, explaining that she would be safe with the Weasley family. Mrs. Granger's reply did not take long, and her mum's words had practically jumped out from the paper as she explained that she did not even want Hermione to go to the Burrow.

Whatever her mum's reasoning was, Hermione knew better than to argue, and wrote back to tell her mother that she would stay at Hogwart's. Ron and Harry didn't understand why Hermione couldn't come with them, and not wanting anyone to feel insulted, Hermione used the ruse of having some extra schoolwork to catch up on. The excuse was plausible, as her course load was heavier than her mates'.

Even though Hermione would have preferred to spend her holiday with friends and family, she vowed to make the best of her situation. At least she would be able to visit Severus.

_Not Severus. Professor Snape,_ she told herself.

It was best to keep the habit of referring to him by his title when they were not in intimate proximity. Now curious as to where the professor was, Hermione pulled Harry's map out of her pocket and looked around for the dot that read Severus Snape. Round and round she looked, until she saw that his dot was moving steadily, right at the front of the castle. Seconds later, it vanished.

It was still early, and she supposed that it wasn't strange for the professor to leave the school. Even so, she felt her stomach knot up with tension, because she had an idea of where he was going.

_So much for that,_ she now thought of her dissolving light-hearted mood.

Hermione knew that her eyes would stay glued to the Marauder's Map until Snape's dot reappeared. The little focus she had was now gone, and forcing herself to read was pointless. Telling herself that sitting in the common room and worrying herself sick would also serve no purpose, Hermione cleared away the space she had been sitting at before standing up.

She didn't have anything specific in mind, but Hermione didn't want to stay in the common room. She thought about popping over to visit Hagrid, but it was a bit too cold outside for her liking. Hmm, but there w_as_ someone else she could visit, no matter that she had already seen them earlier. Another thought already formulating in her mind, Hermione purposefully walked off in the direction of the staircase.

* * *

It was nightfall when Snape finally returned to the castle. It didn't matter that it was Christmas Eve; the Dark Lord saw no reason to let that get the way of his plans. Snape had been forced to listen to the Dark Lord belittle Lucius Malfoy for his blunder, while in the same breath asking about his son.

The malevolent wizard had then droned on for the next few hours. Snape knew that the Dark Lord was narcissistic as they came, and was most likely nattering on, purely to hear his own voice. But the last thing Snape felt like doing was listening to that sibilant voice while his serpentine familiar slithered about beneath the table, purposely brushing up against his legs.

When the meeting was adjourned, Snape took his time walking out into the brisk air, moving a few feet before Apparating to the entrance gates at Hogwarts. While he was thankful that they all hadn't been forced to brutalise one another that evening, the only thing Snape wanted at that point was to sit before the hearth and get the chill out of his bones.

He had nearly made it to his door when he stopped in the middle of the empty corridors. Slowly he walked over to one of the hanging tapestries, and with reflexes quick as a snake's, reached behind and let his fingers close around a slim arm.

"Quickly now, before you're seen," he urged in a hushed tone, prodding them to walk ahead.

"Miss Granger," he began soon as they were in his room. Impatiently withdrawing his wand to flick it at Hermione's head, he lifted the Disillusion Charm and took in her appearance.

Hermione stood before him, wearing a thick jumper and jeans, and a look of surprise on her face. Both hands were in front of her, holding onto a small basket.

"How did you know I was standing there?" she asked her mouth partially open. "Oh well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," she said in reply to the smirk that Snape threw her.

Ignoring her question, he went on to remove his travelling cloak and hung it up. "I should be asking why _you_ were bold enough to come down here without my instruction."

Hermione was flummoxed and wracked her brain for an answer. Did that mean that Snape didn't want to see her? Was she overstepping her bounds…

"But I thought you said that I would see you later."

"So I did, Miss Granger," Snape replied, now flicking his wand at the hearth. "However, it was still foolish of you to wander down here on your own without knowing if I was in my rooms."

"I knew you were on your way," Hermione said, after exhaling in relief. "That's why I hid. At first, I thought you might be another student, but then I saw your name and—"

"You saw my name? How?"

Hermione shifted the basket to one hand while digging out the Marauder's Map with another. "This," she answered, holding it up.

Snape's nostrils flared as he saw the familiar piece of parchment, right before giving a little scoff. "Potter actually entrusted you with that rubbish? Oh, if he knew the purpose you were using it for."

Hermione knew that Snape was being sarcastic by that point, but she shoved the map back into her pocket.

"As far as Harry is concerned, I'm using it to sneak to the library at night," Hermione snapped. "And besides, I don't have to report to him. He goes off and does what he wants, doesn't he?"

"All too much," Snape replied dismissively, while gesturing vaguely for Hermione to sit down.

Hermione took a seat in the armchair closest to the hearth, until Snape emphatically pointed to another place, while telling her to move out of his chair. _Underneath the kisses, he's still Snape, _she thought of his defunct manners. Dropping down into the small sofa, she set the basket down by her feet and looked over at the wizard.

Snape had unbuttoned and removed his frock coat and was now unwinding his cravat. After setting the length of material down, he slumped down in his armchair, exhaling as he tilted his head back. The professor looked anxious, and if she could guess, most likely had a headache, as he brought a slim hand up to his temple and began rubbing.

"Umm, are you alright?" Hermione asked. "I'll go if I'm bothering you—"

"No, I'm fine," Snape answered in a clipped voice without looking at her.

_Liar. _Hermione thought it a shame that Snape had to go off to meet He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on Christmas Eve, of all nights. Whatever he had to endure that left him looking so grim made her stomach knot up with tension. Yet, in so many words, Snape said he didn't want her to go…

Without giving it another thought, Hermione stood up and walked over to Severus. He cracked one eye open when he sensed the movement, yet remained quiet as the witch stood behind his armchair. Reaching down, Hermione placed her hands on Severus' shoulders and began kneading them gently, unsure if she should use more force. Experimentally pressing down harder, she elicited a soft groan from the wizard, who seemed to melt further into the leather.

The high back of the chair pressed uncomfortably into her chest, but Hermione didn't want to stop, as Severus now seemed to be more relaxed. She went on to massage his neck and then his temples. From her vantage point, she could see the bridge of Severus' hooked nose, along with his chest slowly moving with deep, even breaths. The wizard was previously the literal picture of tension, as his hands had been clutching onto the sides of his armchair. Now his fingers were relaxed and slightly curved over the rolled leather edges.

Hermione was in the middle of sliding her fingertips over Severus' scalp when he lifted one hand and caught her wrist. He didn't say a word, and she waited to see what he wanted. Gently tugging on her hand, Severus guided Hermione from around the back of his chair and made her stand before him.

Snape still was not talking, yet he continued holding onto Hermione's wrist. It was apparent that he wanted her closer, as he tugged at her wrist again. She was already standing between his knees, and the only other viable option was to straddle the professor in his armchair.

Doing just that, Hermione braced her hands on his shoulders and lowered herself to his lap. Snape shifted his weight to allow her knees to fit on either side of him, and she was soon comfortably situated atop his thighs.

His face inches away from hers, Hermione was able to hone in on the deep lines of stress embedded in his features. She thought herself silly for worrying about the professor during his absence. She knew that he had been taking care of himself long before she came along. Even so, he remained on her thoughts. When his dot finally reappeared on the Marauder's Map, she had snatched up her basket and wand and ran out of the common room, hastily charming herself invisible before making her way down to the dungeons.

She had then roughly calculated just where they would meet one another, when Hermione swore that she heard another set of footsteps. The sound had been nothing but Peeves banging around, looking for trouble to get into. When the poltergeist found that the dungeons were deserted, he passed through a wall, off in search of something else to get into.

The corridor had fallen completely silent, and Hermione nearly lost it when her hiding place was discovered. The familiar voice that somehow managed to hiss into her invisible ear had been the only thing to keep her from wetting herself.

_Damn sneaky snakes, _she grumbled to herself.

Severus had now slipped one hand beneath Hermione's jumper and unfastened her bra. She was almost tempted to ask how was he able to do so with one hand, as she always needed two to unlatch the thing, but his fingers began roaming over the expanse of her back, and Hermione soon forgot her question.

It was extremely cosy, sitting there before the crackling hearth with Severus caressing her back. Most of his tension seemed to have dissolved, as he didn't feel rigid against her. Although he still had his shirt on, and Hermione figured that if he was touching her without anything in the way, that she ought to do the same.

Slumping back to unbutton Severus' white shirt, Hermione lifted her gaze from her task to find the professor staring at her with his eyes at half-mast.

"Galleon for your thoughts?" she asked, feeling a bit foolish but not knowing what else to say.

"I assure you, you set your price far too high," Snape replied, moving forward so Hermione could push both sleeves down his arms.

"I would say it's too low," Hermione said, now removing her jumper and bra.

She had just opened her mouth to speak again when Severus pulled her against him and lowered his head to her breast, effectively shutting down her thoughts. Moaning quietly as his tongue swiped over her nipple, Hermione held onto Severus' shoulder and pulled him closer.

Soon his erection was pressing through his trousers and against her thigh, and Hermione stood up, hurriedly unfastening her jeans and slipping out of them and her knickers. Snape had also kicked out of his trousers and pants and was now waiting on his armchair for Hermione.

The witch didn't waste any time positioning her body over his. Hermione held onto the back of the chair while Severus placed the blunt tip of his cock at her opening. She wasn't that wet and had to move slowly, but after a few minutes of rocking her hips against his, Hermione was panting and meeting him thrust for thrust.

Heavy breathing was the only thing to give away Severus' arousal, although his hands were firmly gripping onto Hermione's hips, pushing them down each time his swooped up.

Had Hermione ever questioned if all the sneaking around was worth it, then her current answer would be a resounding 'yes', as she was already close to going over the edge. While Severus was letting her take the lead, he easily matched her movements with smooth, gliding ones of his own. His hand then slid from her waist and down to where their bodies were joined, and his thumb easily found her clit. The light, teasing caresses over its hood weren't enough to make her come, yet they did make Hermione buck her hips sharply against his, urging him to touch her harder.

When it still wasn't enough, Hermione threw both arms around Severus' neck, pulling him flush against her while grinding down onto him. Her thighs were beginning to ache, but Hermione finally sensed the stirrings of an orgasm and wasn't about to stop. With a soft cry she went over, shuddering from head to toe as she dug her fingers into Severus' back. Hermione went limp as she began to come down, and felt Severus stroking her back again.

"At least I know of one way to render you speechless," he said in a low voice against her ear.

Hermione shivered as his warm breath ran over her neck and gave an embarrassed sort of laugh.

"That isn't nice," she replied, gently pinching his side.

"You weren't complaining a minute ago."

"I suppose I wasn't," she answered languidly. "Although my legs are complaining; in fact, they're screaming at me now."

"I suppose they would be," Severus chuckled as he wrapped both arms around Hermione's waist and scooted forwards in the armchair. "Hold onto me."

Bracing her arms and legs around his thin frame, Hermione jumped when she felt Severus stand up with her still wrapped around him. He walked over to the sofa that he had previously complained about, and set her down on it.

"Don't even know why I'm using this damn thing when I have a bed," Snape said in a gruff tone, although he tilted Hermione's hips towards his and thrust back into her.

The rigid sofa really wasn't that comfortable, but that was the least of Hermione's worries as she braced herself with one foot against its arm, and wrapped her other leg around Severus' waist. Severus had grabbed onto the sofa arm above Hermione's head, holding onto the slick wood as he drove himself deeper into her body.

Severus had been trying to hold out, but when Hermione's breath hitched and she clamped down on him a second time, she triggered his release, and the two came together in a chorus of moans. They remained on the sofa, clinging to one another until their breathing slowed down. Severus had his face buried between Hermione's breasts, and she was stroking his dark hair away from his face.

"Severus?"

"Yes?"

"You were right, this sofa_ is_ uncomfortable. Can we please move?"

Snape gave a short laugh against her skin, yet pressed a kiss between her breasts, then her lips, and pushed himself up.

" I told you it was; I hate the damned thing."

Hermione sat up and wrapped both arms around her body. "Well then, why don't you get rid of it? Or charm it into something softer?"

"The thought has crossed my mind, of course, only after sitting on it for ten minutes," Snape replied. "Come along, then. It's too cold for you to stay out here like that."

Her naked, sweat-dampened body had started to cool off, and Hermione realised that she was shivering. Rising from the sofa, she followed an equally naked Snape to the bedroom, her eyes glued to the long line of his pale back.

Once they were in his room, Snape handed Hermione what looked like one of his long nightshirts. After pulling it over her head, Hermione found that the hem and sleeves were much too long, but she was warm.

"Must you be so tall?" she griped, looking at the pile of grey material her feet were swimming in.

"Must you be so short?" Severus shot back, now holding up another nightshirt and pulling it over his head. "Quit your whinging and get into bed."

Hermione flipped her hair back in a defiant gesture but did as she was told. Climbing onto the bed and sliding beneath the duvet, she peeled the covers down on the other side and waited for Severus to join her. When he was settled next to her, Hermione rolled over onto her side and began stroking Severus' chest through his nightshirt.

"What's in that basket you were lugging about?" he asked a few minutes later.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing the duvet off her legs and wriggling out of bed. "I nearly forgot about that."

Snape watched as she held up the hem of the too-long nightshirt and scampered out of his room, soon returning with the basket.

"Surely you could have summoned it here," he said as Hermione worked her way back onto the bed, the basket loop over her arm.

"I didn't want everything to fall," she explained, setting it down between them and opening it. "When I didn't see you on the map for a long time, I figured that you would be late in returning to the castle. And I figured you hadn't eaten so...I tried to tell Dobby to let me make at least one thing, but you know how the house-elves are. They nearly bit my head off, but they did give me everything I asked for."

Hermione stopped pawing through the basket long enough to see that Snape was looking at her, one of his almost-smiles on his face.

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know," she replied with a small shrug. "But I wanted to, and besides, it's Christmas Eve and I didn't know what else to—"

Snape leaned over and pressed a finger against Hermione's lips. "Thank you," he said, briefly kissing her once she stopped prattling on.

It turned out that the house-elves had done a good job at following Hermione's direction, because Snape ate everything with relish, even taking seconds. Once they were done eating, Snape brought out a bottle of elderflower wine, which Hermione gratefully accepted. She was sipping on her second glass and leaning against the professor, who was sitting up in bed with an arm around the witch, using the headboard to support his back.

"I wonder if it's Christmas yet?" Hermione mused aloud.

"There's only one way to find out," Snape replied, leaning over to his bedside table and picking up what looked like an antique pocket watch. "Indeed it is, it's after midnight."

"Hmm. If I tell you 'Happy Christmas', will you bite my head off?"

"Given the circumstances, I think that I can remain on my best behaviour," Snape replied with a smirk.

"Well since you put it that way," Hermione giggled, "Happy Christmas, Severus."

"Are you expecting me to say it back?"

"It would be nice, but you don't have to."

"If I say it and you tell anyone, I will deny it," Snape deadpanned. "Very well, then. Happy Christmas."

"Don't worry, Professor Scrooge. Your secret is safe with me," Hermione assured, breaking out into another fit of laughter as Snape glared at her.

* * *

**_A/N: Things that make you wonder...so I was asked about the Marauder's Map, heehee. But then I got to thinking...if the map showed EVERYONE in the castle at all hours of the day, why the hell weren't there more dots on it in the movie? Like it should have shown ALL of the students and the staff and the other staff that had no names...right? But they only showed a few people in the films. Hmmm. _**


	22. Chapter 22

**_A/N: Won't lie, still not completely happy with the last chapter, but it was the best I could do with the hellish migraine accompanied by a body that refused to stay upright in front of a computer. So! I hope this one is more entertaining. And I really need to get back to writing back to everyone, I feel so blah cause I've not harassed any of my reviewers! I'm sorry, I suck. How is everyone? Hopefully you enjoy this chapter, well...hehehe I had to do something in the beginning, but you'll see. Sorry, I guess my dirty mind is coming back. Again, thank you sooo much for the reviews and alerts! I like hearing from everyone, even it's just one word or a little 3, I appreciate everything ;)_**

* * *

Hermione was back in the dormitories by daybreak. She was eagerly opening her Christmas presents, albeit it with a completely distracted mind.

Earlier that morning, she hadn't any idea of the time; the only thing she would have guessed was that it wasn't quite five am.

Severus had woken up, that much was obvious by the sound of his breathing. Hermione had noticed that even when she and Severus shared a bed back at Grimmauld Place, sometimes he would wake up throughout the night. He never said anything, he would merely lie there, staring up into the darkness.

Surmising that he was having trouble sleeping, Hermione moved closer to Severus and slipped an arm around his body. They were both still dressed, although her nightshirt had ridden up over her thigh when she shifted around beneath the duvet.

Like always, Severus remain quiet, although he did pull Hermione closer. Her chest was to his back, and she could feel his heartbeat steadily thumping against her. She was glad that he had long gotten over his aversion of her kissing or hugging him. Not that Hermione had ever been much of a touchy-feely person. There had been plenty of times where she dodged hugs and kisses, along with the occasional hair tug that was always accompanied by some comment about her curls.

It wasn't as if Hermione planned on snogging Severus' face off; if she had taken the Lavender Brown approach, he would most likely have hexed first and then avoided questions later. Still, it would have been too weird to be sleeping with the professor without being able to kiss him at all. The feel of his wiry arms around her body was another story. Hermione found that it was quite intimate and she liked it. More than liked it, if she was honest with herself.

That morning, Severus had kept his arm around her body. Her breasts were right above his forearm, and his hand was against her stomach, his long fingers splayed over her nightshirt covered navel.

At first, Severus carried on with running his knuckles over her clothed body. Seconds later, he grasped onto Hermione's nightshirt and pulled it up until the lower half of her body was exposed. A breathless moan escaped Hermione's mouth when she felt Severus' thin lips brush against a sensitive spot at the back of her neck.

Severus slid his hand beneath Hermione's nightshirt, his fingers making a continuous circuit on the area between her breasts and stomach. Briefly caressing the curve of her hip, he moved down to stroke her thighs which easily parted to grant him access. Slowly he continued moving until his knuckles brushed against the curls covering her sex. His fingertips grazed and caressed her outer folds, touching everywhere else except for where Hermione wanted. Finally when she had grown tired of his teasing, she rolled over onto her back and hastily grabbed at Severus to pull him on top of her.

Snape had to push himself up on both forearms to keep from falling on the eager witch, who didn't seem to care about their awkward positioning. Once he was situated in a way that would keep him from crushing her, Snape reached down between her legs again. Each time his fingertips circled around her clitoris, Hermione's hips would rise slightly off the mattress, pressing herself further into his touch.

The witch had grown so wet that it nearly felt as if his entire hand was engulfed. His pointer and middle were embedded in her slick heat, his pinky teasing the tighter ring of flesh below while his thumb massaging her clit. Sliding his little finger forward, merely to test her reaction, Snape was rewarded with a low hiss of pleasure as Hermione grabbed onto the front of his nightshirt.

Hermione decided that she wanted to be kissed, and lunged forward so quickly that had her forehead nearly met with the bridge of Snape's nose. Intent on keeping him close, she cupped either side of his face and crushed her lips against his, although she made sure not to choke him with her tongue.

For a brief moment, Hermione opened her eyes to see Severus partially hunched over her. She didn't know that eyes dark as bottomless pits could appear as if they were burning, but his were, and they were burning right into hers.

Just as she was being accustomed to the steady rhythm Severus was using on her that would surely lead to her release, the fingers moving inside her shifted and pressed into a different spot, and her climax was nearly instantaneous. Erupting with a force that left her breathless and trembling, Hermione was completely unaware that she had trapped Severus' hand between her clenched thighs until he began prying them apart.

Swiftly he settled into the cradle of her hips, roughly grabbing at the bottom of his nightshirt and tugging it out the way to reveal a prominent erection. Hermione had been too aroused to muster up a complaint when he covered her body with his, grabbed onto her wrist with a hand that was still sticky from her release and held it down above her head.

She let out a satisfied sigh when Severus thrust into her. All it took was one sweet sound of longing against Severus's ears, and he proceeded to take her hard and fast, making Hermione nearly rip the sheets off the bed when she floundered for something to hold on to. She'd been caught between moaning and screaming, although every sound that escaped her lips was lost to Severus' mouth, which had soon been firmly planted against hers.

Along the way, Hermione ended up with her knees pressed to her chest and Severus gripping two handfuls of the back of her thighs. His hips never ceased its relentless pounding, and the sensation of him moving deeply within her had been so great it left her head spinning. It felt as if the blunt end of his cock was trying to make his way into her womb, but Hermione focused on the pleasure and it overrode the pain. After her second orgasm, Hermione had been so lost to it all that she never noticed her hand making its way beneath Severus' nightshirt, where she proceeded to dig her nails into his shoulder.

Just when Hermione thought Severus was done, he knelt up between her legs and wrenched off his nightshirt. After tugging her to sit up and stripping her naked as well, he positioned Hermione to lie on flat on her stomach, and plunged right back into her.

Each time Severus lunged forward, his sac slapped against her clit with just enough pressure to make her squirm, and he had to hold onto her hips to keep her in place. Every deep stroke had just fallen short of making Hermione climax a third time. Finally her release caught her completely off guard when Severus slightly changed the angle of this thrusts, while slipping one long finger into a tighter part of her body, all without losing his rhythm.

Between the witch greedily pushing back onto his pistoning cock and finger, crying out as her body tightened and convulsed around him, Snape had been unable to hold back and swore loudly, his shuddering body pressed tightly against Hermione as he spilled inside her.

Once she regained her senses, Hermione had laughed weakly at the sudden thought that crossed her mind. She knew it had been a crass thing to do, but figured how crass could she be considering that Severus was naked and on half-collapsed on top of her, with them both still intimately joined, and so she muttered a languid, "Happy Christmas, indeed," into the sheets.

Snape had been in the middle of kissing the back of her damp neck when he delivered a light slap to her behind, making her laugh.

Hermione had suddenly felt so worn out that the last thing she remembered was rolling over and pulling Severus down for a kiss before going back to sleep.

All in all, her Christmas had started off very nicely. She had never begun a holiday by getting shagged into once crisp bed sheets that she had a hand in rumpling, yet quickly she learned of its merits.

No one would suspect the reason for Hermione's cheeks remaining flush all that morning, or why she kept smiling, as if she was in on some private joke, even though she hadn't spoken to anyone. It was hard to keep focused, even on a simple task of pulling wrapping paper off parcels.

Hermione's mum sent her a few nightgowns, along with a note explaining that she knew how 'dreadfully cold' the school became at night. There was also the prerequisite packet of healthy treats, although there was also a small box of fancy chocolates and an envelope with currency, which Hermione suspected had been snuck in by her dad. Mrs. Weasley sent one of her homemade hat and scarf sets, while Ron and Harry each gave her books that they knew had been on her to-buy list.

Dobby had been given an assortment of children's clothes that the three purchased from a shop in Hogsmeade, and the house-elf had been ecstatic to receive his present. In turn, he gave Hermione a pair of thick socks that didn't match, but were pretty nonetheless; one had a snowflake embroidered into the side, and the other had a snowman. The socks weren't Hermione's taste, as she preferred ones that were white and matched. But they were handmade by the house-elf, and it was the thought that counted, so she fondly added them to her pile of presents.

After going to the dormitory and packing everything away in her trunk, Hermione settled down on her bed. Resting her head on its end, she distractedly watched Crookshanks playing with his Christmas present, a brand new plush spider stuffed with catnip. Crookshanks batted his paws at the thing, chewing and shaking it as if it were alive.

"You silly thing," Hermione chided, laughing as the cat sent his toy scurrying across the floor, only for him to raise his furry bottle-brush tail in the air and go running after it. The stuffed spider apparently became lost beneath one of the beds, because Crooks dove under and stayed there, content to bat and chew on his new toy in the dark space.

"Maybe the professor was right about you," she laughed, shaking her head when the soft thumping continued.

Turning over onto her side and staring out the window, Hermione began thinking about the person that she would hopefully spend the remainder of the holiday with. She wished that she had been able to get him something for Christmas, but what did one buy for their lover that was more than twice their age and also their professor? Also taking into account that up until recently, Hermione barely knew anything about the man. She remembered once dallying with the idea that Snape's idea of fun was swearing at baby unicorns or blasting apart rose bushes, as she remembered him doing the latter during the Yule Ball. She knew that it had been to find students kissing, but Hermione also suspected that maybe he was in a snit with Professor Sprout and thus took it out on her roses.

The only thing Hermione could go by was the fact that Snape appreciated a good meal, which was why she had enlisted the help of Dobby, who cheerfully sent her from the kitchens with enough dinner and afters for eight people.

But why did the professor have such an aversion to the holiday? Any holiday, for that matter? There was that Valentine's day two years ago where the ceiling in the Great Hall had been charmed to rain heart-shaped confetti. Hermione had just taken a bite of toast and looked towards the staff dais to notice Snape scowling into his coffee cup, before using two long fingers to pick out what she guessed were tiny pink and red hearts.

_Wouldn't you be upset if you were trying to have breakfast and it rained hearts into your marmalade?_

_Yeah, but being upset is one thing. Severus looked like he wanted to Avada the ceiling!_

Then again...the man seemed to have always gone about with a chip on his shoulder. True, he _was_ a bit different when they were alone; a little less guarded, she would venture to say.

Hermione didn't know if she had done or said anything specific to make the professor let her in, even if it was a mere sliver, but the point was that he now seemed to somewhat trust her. It was definitely a welcome change compared to him snapping at her all the time, although Snape displayed that his snappish attitude wasn't completely done away with, as displayed when he told her to move out of his armchair.

Even that hadn't been enough to put Hermione off. She sensed that no matter what, Snape was just a touchy person, and would always be touchy. She figured he would be the sort to sneer at the sight of a rainbow.

_Sure; next thing, he'll be tearing the wings off butterflies, _Hermione giggled to herself.

No, he wasn't that bad. While Snape continued to display his usual dour attitude, Hermione never felt apprehensive or fearful while in his presence. That little fact in itself had to account for something. Hermione knew that she was the sort that always looked for the good in another person, never believing that anyone was inherently bad. Yes, she had been wrong in the past, but Hermione figured that she knew enough at that point to figure out who was on her side and who wasn't.

One thing was for sure—whoever the previous owner of Harry's Potions text clearly hadn't been on anyone's side, judging by the amount of dodgy spells written inside it. Hermione continued to worry that Harry would eventually getting into trouble. But no matter what she said, Harry was hardheaded and refused to turn in the book. Hermione knew what it was like to want high marks so badly that she was able to taste them, but even she had limits.

Hermione wished she could go to the library, but knew that wasn't going to happen seeing as it was Christmas Day. In the back of her mind, she could hear Ron and Harry telling her to give it a rest, that it was a holiday, and why did she want to spend her free time with her nose buried in a book?

Of course, Ron always had that attitude about her and the library. Each time he opened his mouth to complain, Hermione made it clear that perhaps he should follow her lead, as he wouldn't always need to copy her work or ask her to finish his. It never made a difference. Hermione would point out the obvious until she was blue in the face, and still Ron would continue skiving off till the last minute, only to come dashing about in high panic, looking for her. And like always, because she was such a good friend, Hermione helped him.

_You are such a pushover._

Well, she had a bit more sympathy for Ron that school term. While Ron never said so, Hermione could tell that he was also tired of Slughorn fawning all over Harry in class. She couldn't help it; it rankled her to no end that Harry was out-performing her in something purely because he was cheating. That's what it was in the end: cheating.

_Alright, give it a rest, Hermione. It is Christmas, after all. _

Dousing the flicker of annoyance that had erupted, Hermione turned her attention onto Crookshanks, who had just jumped onto her bed. He had a real, but dead, spider dangling from the corner of his mouth.

"Happy Christmas to me? Oh, you shouldn't have," she groaned, using her foot to urge the cat back onto the floor. Crookshanks paused and stared at Hermione as if he was offended, but he jumped down anyway and continued chewing on his fresh catch. "We'd better not let Hagrid see you doing that. He'd probably think you were chewing on one of Aragog's grandchildren and—_ugh!_ Never mind, I'd rather not think about that."

Hermione was grateful that she had been spared seeing Aragog and his children up close and personal. The story from Ron and Harry had been enough for her to know that she hadn't missed anything.

Deciding that she had already spent too much alone time in the common room, as she was unable to stop thinking about the boulder-sized spider as well as many of the other horrifying creatures she and her friends had encountered thus far, Hermione beckoned Crookshanks over. After making sure that his furry mouth was spider free, she scooped him up into her arms and carried him out of the room.

* * *

The rest of the day went by achingly slow for Hermione. She ran into Hagrid, and at his behest, spent a couple hours down at his hut. Crookshanks came along, and happily prowled about on the dirty wooden floor, looking for spiders and the like, while Fang curled up at the hearth and lazily eyed the dashing kneazle. Hagrid had been surprised about Hermione remaining at school for the holiday, but after she explained her mum's stance on traveling, he abandoned the topic.

Later that evening, Christmas dinner was served in the Great Hall. Without the normal amount of students present, the vast area seemed larger than usual, and everyone fit comfortably at one table which wasn't far from the staff dais.

Dumbledore's large ornate chair was unoccupied and very much noticeable, although before dinner was served, McGonagall announced that the Headmaster was away and left it at that. The other professors were present, Snape included, and he looked dismissive as ever. Hagrid was at the other end of the table, and winked at Hermione when he saw her sitting with the cluster of students.

The Christmas feast turned out to be quite nice. There were a variety of dishes and puddings that weren't normally served during the school year, and Hermione was surprised to find that butterbeer was also on the table.

Everyone at the student table hadn't been bosom friends, but they were all chatting comfortably by the time afters were served. The entire time, Hermione had forced herself not to look at Snape. Her task wasn't easy, especially once she thought back to what she did with him earlier that morning.

Somehow, she managed to hold herself together until time to retire for the evening. The only thing left to do was wait in Gryffindor Tower until everyone was asleep, then she would sneak back out and make her way to the dungeons.

Too stuffed with rich food to do more than lie across her bed, Hermione ended up falling asleep and didn't wake back up until it was almost eleven. After peeking at her wristwatch, she grabbed a small bag that held her shrunken belongings. Wand and Harry's map in her other hand, Hermione crept down the curved stone steps and made her way out of the dormitory.

"Sorry, I fell asleep," Hermione explained once she made it to Snape's study.

Like always, Snape seemed to know that she was near because he accidentally-on-purpose had been standing in the doorway of his chambers. Without uttering a word he stepped by to let a Disillusioned Hermione through, only speaking once the door was shut and the charm lifted.

"I figured as much," Snape replied. "You looked as if you were going to fall headfirst into your stew in the Great Hall."

Hermione grinned bashfully; had Snape actually seen that?

"I guess I did overextend myself a little," she admitted, walking behind Snape and following him further into the room.

He took his usual place in his armchair, and pointed to a second armchair adjacent from his that hadn't been there before. Hermione was pleased by the new addition but said nothing, knowing that Snape would snarl at her if she made any type of fuss. She sat across from the wizard, who was now staring into the embers, looking as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet choosing to remain silent. He was fully dressed, something else that made her frown.

"Severus?"

It was a while before he answered with a curt, "Yes?"

"Are you alright? I-I know you can't talk about everything, but is—"

"Alright as I will ever be," he replied in a tone that meant Hermione should stop asking questions.

Slumping back into her chair, Hermione began toying with the clasp on her handbag. She had packed one of her new nightgowns and her toothbrush, but now she wondered if she would even need them.

For someone that never failed to let the world know when he was displeased with something, Hermione was surprised that Snape was so closed-mouth at the moment. Obviously something was bothering him, most likely to do with something that she had no business being subject to. Even if he had told her, Hermione was positive that she wouldn't be able to help, even though she would have tried her best.

On the way down to the dungeons, Hermione had been toying with the idea of asking Snape if he knew anything about this 'Half-blood Prince' character, yet quickly abandoned that notion. No matter what went on between her and Snape, she still couldn't rat out her best friend. Even if she gave scant details of the name or lied about where she learned of it, Snape's mind worked like a freshly honed blade, and without a doubt he would be able to work out the details or decipher why Hermione was asking.

But now that she was in front of him, and saw that the wizard looked more haggard than usual, she thought the best thing to do was remain silent.

Just then, Snape turned his head towards Hermione, and the only thing she could focus on was the two piercing black eyes pinning her into place.

"Do you trust me?" he asked so suddenly, that Hermione wasn't sure at first of the question. Snape's words came out so casually that he might have been asking her if she cared for something to drink, but belying that casualness was a glint of seriousness.

"Yes," she answered, perhaps a bit too hastily, although she was telling the truth.

_I wonder how long that will last,_ Snape ruminated inwardly. "I did refer to you a silly girl before; have I not?"

"Yes, and foolish as well, I'm sure," Hermione replied, trying to inject a bit of lightness into the conversation. "Why do you ask? Have you broken trust with someone? Did you tell a couple of first years that Father Christmas wasn't real? Shame on you, Severus Snape."

In spite of the tension that suddenly clouded the room, Hermione kept a small smile on her face. Severus' countenance remained stony, although the corner of his mouth finally lifted into a familiar smirk.

That smirk was short-lived. Hermione noticed Severus' hand creeping towards his left forearm, and then he suddenly stopped as if a flame had been set to his skin. Rising so quickly it nearly made her head spin, Hermione watched as Severus crossed the room and picked up what looked like his black travelling cloak.

"Severus?" she asked, confusion all over her features.

"My rooms are warded, no one is able to get inside," he told her gruffly. "Although I'm sure by now you know well enough to stay hidden if needed."

"I know," Hermione replied, swallowing nervously. "Where are you ... Will you be long?"

The grim look on Snape's face was enough for her to know that there was no answer to that question. But he did promise her that he would return, before walking out of his rooms in a flourish of black.

Hermione's mouth was dry with fear, and she sat numbly in the new armchair long after Snape had gone. Damn him and that detached expression of his! Part of why she could never tell what Snape was thinking was because he mostly kept his face void of emotion. That fact wasn't a surprise, considering the way he belittled Harry for not having control of his emotions while attempting to teach him Occlumency the year before.

But Hermione had a feeling that if she knew was had been thinking as he looked at her seconds before leaving her alone, that she would have begged him to stay behind. Because she knew where he was going; she had always known. Her asking him to stay was simply out of the question. Snape had a role he had to live up to on a consistent basis, just like Hermione had her own role to play when it came to aiding Harry.

It was moments like this when the reality of everything came crashing down upon her, and Hermione had to force herself to not have a panic attack. It was easy to become lulled into a false sense of security when hidden behind the fortified walls of Hogwarts, but fact remained that there still remained an evil wizard that was murdering innocent people in the search for power. That had never change, and it would not change any time soon.

And now Severus was off, yet again, to face said evil wizard.

Popping up from the armchair and scrambling around for the Marauder's Map, Hermione frantically searched the old, wrinkled parchment for Severus' dot until she caught sight of it, steadily moving towards the front gates. Seconds later it vanished, and a knot formed in her stomach.

Hermione knew there was nothing she could do but wait for Severus' return, and it only made the knot pull tighter.

Feeling as if she was going to lose the remnants of her Christmas dinner, Hermione fled to the bathroom. Hovering over the basin and splashing cool water on her face, she managed to not become sick. She took a deep breath and the knot in her stomach had loosened slightly.

Sweat had broken out across her forehead, and Hermione realised that her skin also felt damp beneath her jumper. Part of her wanted to keep her eyes glued to the Marauder's Map until Snape's dot reappeared, but the other part wanted to take a hot shower, which hopefully would soothe her nerves.

Opting to do so quickly, Hermione summoned her bag from the front room and balanced it on the sink ledge. Stripping and stepping into the shower, Hermione washed the perspiration from her skin, moving more briskly than she usually would. While the water was hot and felt good, it did little to assuage her anxiety.

Soon she was back in front of her hearth, dressed in her new nightgown with her damp hair hanging down her back . Hermione's feet were cold and she wished that she thought to bring her slippers, but had forgotten them in her haste. Resolving to curling up in the armchair and tucking the long hem of the thick nightgown beneath her feet, she turned her attention back to the map.

Because of the late hour, all of the professors' dots were shown to be in their rooms and stationary. Even Filch, who usually prowled the castle at odd hours, was tucked away in his room. The only moving dots on the map belonged the school poltergeists; the Bloody Baron was slowly moving along the first floor of the castle, while Peeves disappeared and reappeared at random spots.

The whole business of waiting for Severus to return was nerve-wracking. The only thing to keep Hermione company was the crackling fireplace and her worried thoughts, both of which made her want to pull her hair out after twenty minutes.

Desperate to see something besides the map or fireplace, Hermione began looking around the room.

The study wasn't much different from Snape's room in terms of decor. However, there was a wall to wall bookshelf behind Snape's desk that caught her attention. Any other time, Hermione would have run over and devoured everything in only the way a bibliophile could, but right now she wasn't inclined to move so much as an inch out of place.

No matter how late Severus might be, it didn't matter, as Hermione was positive that she wouldn't be able to sleep. One hour passed, then two, and Hermione's eyes grew sore and had she looked in a mirror, she was sure to find they had grown bloodshot. Rapid blinks turned to long blinks, and finally Hermione decided to close her eyes for a second, purely to relieve their ache.

_That's a little better,_ she thought, yawning as she curled her body into a tight little ball.

What she meant to last for a second lasted for an hour, and Hermione dozed off without intending to.

* * *

Snape had painfully made his way back to the front gates of Hogwarts, and was forced to take his time walking through the darkened corridors. He had nearly forgotten about leaving Hermione behind in his rooms, and was greeted by the sight of her slumped over in her armchair.

The embers had long burned out, leaving a faint orange glow in the front room. Even though Hermione was dressed in a long white nightgown that covered her from throat to ankle, it was cooler down in the dungeons, and she was shivering in the midst of her sleep.

The last thing Snape wanted to do was wake her, especially after he noticed that damned Marauder's Map in her lap. Putting two and two together, he figured that she had been staring at it while waiting for him to return, and ended up falling asleep.

He would have levitated her to his bedroom, but at the moment his hands were covered in blood—his own blood this time—and he was too weak to summon up the strength to perform magic again.

The Dark Lord had been in rare form, and took it out on every person at the meeting, save for Bellatrix, although even she hadn't escaped a hiss-filled bout of verbal abuse.

Snape was freezing, and his heavy woolen cloak wasn't doing much to keep in what little warmth remained in his worn out and abused body. Too exhausted to pull out his wand and stoke the fire, he settled for sitting upright on the floor, resting his head against the side of his armchair.

Resting his eyes for a moment, Snape opened them to little slits to focus on a pair of dainty, deliciously bare feet, peeking from beneath the edge of a pure white nightgown. His wearied mind made him think he was dreaming, and he wondered if some deity came to visit him. A sharp gasp made him open his eyes fully. Snape's surroundings came into focus, and he looked up and was met with the horrified face of Hermione Granger, who looked as if she was about to burst into tears.

"Don't you dare, witch," he snapped at her in a raspy voice. "Don't you dare start that."

"Prof—_Severus!_" she cried plaintively, wringing her hands nervously. Snape threw her a look of pure disgust, and it was enough to make Hermione snap back to her senses.

Nothing had changed from the first time she saw him down and out at Grimmauld Place. The professor still obviously loathed being cosseted and fussed over, despite the fact that he had been unable to make his way all the way up into his armchair. Hermione figured that his trek into the castle and down to the dungeons had been a long and painful once, and once he was in the privacy of his rooms that he stopped in the most comfortable spot.

"Are you—what do you need? What do you want me to do?"

Snape grit his teeth and inhaled nosily through his nose, drawing in as much air as possible without causing himself more discomfort. "First, you can stop with the waterworks, as they will not solve a damned thing," he began, "not now, and not ever. But if you must, I would like to get to my bedroom."

"Okay, alright," Hermione sniffed, wiping her damp eyes on one sleeve and stooping down to help Snape stand up.

With a groan he allowed Hermione to pull him up, and he leaned heavily against her. The little witch staggered a few times beneath his weight, yet she never let him fall. Finally getting him the room and on his bed, Snape watched with heavy-lidded eyes as Hermione used two trembling hands to undo the clasp of his travelling robe.

"I don't understand why you're so shaken up now," he rasped. "This isn't the first time you've seen me in such a state, and surely it won't be the last."

"I know, I know," Hermione said, her words tumbling out of her mouth. "But I will _never_ get used to seeing you like this, and I can't help it."

Snape remained silent as Hermione continued to undress him. Judging by her reaction, there was a fair amount of blood covering his skin. It seemed his assumptions were correct, as she let out a choked sob when she touched his head and her hand came back covered in bright red.

The wizard had enough experience to know that his cuts were shallow; they only appeared serious because of the amount of blood. The pain on the inside caused him the most grief; he was still finding it difficult to breathe, and his muscles were screaming in agony. There was no sense in pointing this out to Hermione, as she still seemed completely frazzled even if she was quiet, although she took to efficiently moving about to mend him.

Finally when his last cut had been healed and the blood washed from his head, Snape lie beneath the covers, dressed only in his vest and boxers. Hermione had made some fuss about putting a nightshirt on him, but changed her mind, claiming that she didn't want to move him too much. Now she was sitting next to him, cross-legged and for all the world looking as if she had seen a ghost. Her curls had gone frizzier from all the dashing about, and she was nervously twisting a loop of it round and round her index finger.

"You're going to have a bald patch if you keep that up," Snape told her in a tired voice. "You and Slughorn will be able to trade tips."

Hermione began laughing at that, but no sooner than the sound slipped from her lips, did they turn into a guttural cry.

_"Why?!"_ she practically screamed, her chin wobbling. "Why do you have to keep going...and coming back like _this?_ It isn't fair, it isn't _right!"_

Snape wasn't that shocked by her outburst, yet he decided to allow Hermione to carry on for a minute. Finally when he had enough, he spoke.

"Alright, I've let you have your cry, that's enough," he sternly told her. "I told you, those Gryffindor tears will get you nowhere. Do I make myself plain?"

His words had the desired effect and Hermione stopped crying. Her face was wet and blotchy, and she used her sleeve again to wipe away the moisture.

"Just as you have a job to do, which is to make sure those idiot friends of yours don't meet their downfall purely because they were too simple to know their arses from their elbows, I also have one. Several, in fact, none of which you need know the specifics of. Just know that no matter what goes on between you and I, at the end of the day I still have obligations that I must uphold, even if you or I agree or disagree with them. That will not change."

Hermione nodded her head, although she looked miserable by that point.

"The sooner you understand this, Hermione, the better. What you see right now is barely the tip of the iceberg. If you intend on helping your friend, you are going to encounter a lot worse than the sight of a slightly battered and bloodied wizard. Let me assure you, tears will not move anyone. A Dark wizard won't care if you cry until your eyes bleed, so don't waste your time."

"I understand..." Hermione trailed off, propping her head up on both bent knees and staring down at her toes.

"I'm not telling you this to be cruel. I will not coddle you nor sugarcoat things to make them more palatable. To do so would be an insult and a disservice to you. After all that you've been through—and yes, I know about it _all_—the last thing you need is another adult hiding the truth from you."

At that comment, Hermione lifted her eyes to meet Severus', and found that he was looking right at her. Her chest heaved once more, but taking his words to heart, she kept her tears at bay. He was right; crying would serve no purpose. If Severus was talking about what she thought he was, then it didn't matter how she reacted to a situation; things would carry out just how certain wizards saw fit. Dolohov and the rest of the Death Eaters certainly hadn't cared that they had attacked children down in the Ministry. She suspected that Dolohov meant to kill her, and her only luck had been that he attacked her by nonverbally casting the spell. Had he actually said it aloud...that was something she still found difficult to think about.

Snape had closed his eyes and was now shaking his head, though at what, Hermione didn't know.

"Come here," he said in a gravelly voice.

Hermione immediately went to the professor's side, curling up against him while making sure to keep her movements gentle. She didn't realise that she had been trembling until her body was against his, and she had to fight with herself to remain still.

Even though Severus was still in a state of discomfort, he wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist and pulled her tightly to him, clumsily stroking her back through her nightgown until she grew relaxed.

Hermione knew that Severus told her about shedding unnecessary tears, but she was unable to stop the last few that managed to escape from beneath her tightly shut eyelids. Grateful her head was partially buried against her upper arm, Hermione drew in a deep breath to calm herself.

Severus had, once again, escaped the clutches of an evil wizard and lived to tell the tale, returning with blood dripping down his face and covering his chest, yet he remained calm the entire time. She had been scared for him, and the sight of him covered in blood had been enough to send Hermione falling to pieces. Between worrying and waiting for him to return all night, and then seeing the state in which he returned, Hermione felt wrung out from her emotions.

Her eyes were growing heavy again, although Hermione didn't want to go back to sleep. She preferred to stay awake to spend as much time with Severus as possible. Although she wondered if he was about to fall asleep, as his breathing was steadier, even if his hand continued tracing shapes into her back.

"Silly girl, indeed," he muttered into the top of her frizzy head.

"I meant what I said, you know," Hermione mumbled drowsily into his chest. "I do trust you."

"You trust me now, but that will change, I'm sure of it," Snape replied in a low voice, which seemed to go unheard by Hermione. When she didn't reply after a few minutes, he pried her arm away from her face to see that she was fast asleep.

Snape allowed Hermione to lie against him for a little while longer before shifting her head onto a pillow and pulling the duvet up to her shoulder. He was tired but found that he was unable to sleep just yet, as Hermione's last words kept resonating in his head.

_I do trust you._

That was so like her. Snape hadn't been surprised to hear Hermione say that she trusted him. Even without him asking and her confirming it, he knew all along. He was just glad that Hermione hadn't asked the same question in turn, because there was a chance that she would not have liked his answer.

Snape wasn't used to trusting anyone. One thing he learned was that everyone had a price, and that even the most noble of persons might do things they would never dream of if their back was suddenly against the wall. Snape couldn't afford to trust anyone.

On the other hand, there were few that claimed they trusted him, but that was only on account of Dumbledore. Even then, Snape sometimes got the impression that the elderly wizard still had his reservations. That small fact didn't matter; Snape had lost count of the times he had gone before the Dark Lord to obtain information for Dumbledore. It hadn't mattered that many times Snape had returned to the castle, sometimes covered in his own blood, someone else's, or none at all. Dumbledore never asked questions, as the only pressing issue for him was whatever Snape managed to glean from his latest foray into the other side.

Initially, and for a split second, Snape had been slighted by the wizard's indifference, although he never let it show. The first time Snape stumbled into the headmaster's tower with blood coating his hands, the wizard never once asked if he was alright. Even when he was a student and was consistently harassed and threatened by James Potter and his friends, the headmaster never saw fit to rectify the situation. As far as his home life...that was another story in itself.

It hadn't taken Snape long to figure out that he was essentially alone in the world, with only himself to depend on. Therefore he always put himself first and looked out for his own interests. Trust was just another word for foolish, and he played his part well enough around everyone just to keep them appeased.

At first, he believed that Hermione only helped him out of pity, looking down at him as one of her causes. The last thing he needed was pity from a too-young witch that thought she knew everything. After careful consideration, Snape had to admit that Hermione knew very little about him personally, and that whatever information she thought she knew, she gleaned from keeping a watchful eye. Had she known about his past, then perhaps that might have served as motivation, in which case Snape would have told her to leave him the hell alone. But Hermione didn't know anything about him, that much he was sure of. Yet she admitted to having kept an eye on him, merely out of concern and nothing else.

Usually people attempted to keep what they thought was a watchful eye on Snape, purely due to mistrust. Idiots, the lot of them. Either they were too led by their emotions to think rationally, which caused to them never being able to look past the tip of their noses. Besides, Snape always allowed people to see what he wanted them to see.

It hadn't taken long for him to learn that Hermione Granger was a different sort of witch. He was shocked when she helped him that first time, even after he insulted her. True, she told him off and left him lying sprawled on the floor of the drawing room at first, but she came back, and continued looking for him every night thereafter.

While Snape believed Hermione to have taken a severe blow to the head, as he was unable to understand why she would help him, he realised that she wasn't quite the same bright-eyed, eager witch in Potions class that nearly slapped her desk mate in the face each time she thrust her hand into the air. Dealing with the daft members of the Ministry, Umbridge included, had merely been the icing on the cake. Snape suspected that the battle of the Ministry had instilled in her a healthy dose of fear, although it was evident that Hermione was trying to push past that event.

Dolohov had, in fact, been trying to kill her. The wizard had made that much known to the Dark Lord at one of their meetings shortly after the battle. Snape had been disgusted but not alarmed; the Death Eaters had attacked children much younger than Hermione had been at the time. The younger, the better, as told by Fenrir Greyback, who had a taste for their tender flesh.

They were, without a doubt, the sickest, cruelest group of wizards Snape had ever come across. Countless times, after coming to his senses, he had asked himself just what the hell he had been thinking by getting involved with them all. However, he never harboured on the thought for long , because what's done is done, and there was no going back.

Snape had been familiar with Dolohov's brand of Dark magic, and knew what curse he used against Hermione. While Madam Pomfrey dispensed each potion to counteract any lingering Dark magic, upon learning of the attack Snape had been the one to prepare them all. On one of his trips to the hospital wing to bring Madam Pomfrey another batch of potions, the matron had complimented him in an offhand sort of way, claiming that he brewed everything well. Perhaps a little too perfectly, as the bushy-haired Gryffindor in her care made a speedy recovery and had proceeded to nag and whine that she felt fine and no longer needed to be stuck in bed.

That had been one of the rare times that Pomfrey and Snape had been in agreement. He told the matron that she could keep Granger and the rest of her friends in the hospital wing for as long as she liked, and Pomfrey had told him that she intended to. Snape had been on the verge of telling the matron that she could bind them to the beds for all he cared, so long as it ensured that the three were unable to go gallivanting about Hogwarts and getting into trouble before the school term came to an end.

Severus shook his head as he thought about that day. Hermione was definitely what one called a difficult patient. Now, the little witch sighed in her sleep and rolled over, her left arm leading first and landing right on top of his forehead. Snape easily caught her hand and guided it away from his face, and the movement woke her up.

"Severus? Are you asleep?" she mumbled.

"No."

"What are you doing, then?"

"Trying to keep you from poking my eyes out and thinking," he answered, lightly squeezing her hand for emphasis.

"Sorry," Hermione replied, shifting her hand to lace her fingers with his. "Are you ever going to tell me what is it you think about, one day?"

_So she knew he was keeping things from her. _"Perhaps," Snape told her, and he was telling the truth. "Go back to sleep."

"Okay," she answered in the middle of a yawn. "Goodnight, Severus."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

* * *

**_A little angst. I like angst._**


	23. Chapter 23

**_A/N: So some of you know that I broke my wrist this Monday. Today at noon, I'm having surgery as I did an ace job of breaking the damn thing. Ask Crmediagal, I was bitching to her about not being able to update, and I did about 4k with just one hand. Either I'm mad or dedicated but I don't care! So I was only able to respond to some reviews, sooo sorry, but I still love you all! I might have to stay in the hospital for a day, in which case I will harass you all when I come back. Thank youuuu for the reviews and alerts! You all are the best! _**

* * *

Snape's internal timing woke him the next morning. He turned his head and groaned, still feeling as if he had been run over by a lorry. Doggedly opening his eyes, he looked down and saw a small hand lying at a skewed angle on top of his chest, palm side down with its fingers relaxed and curved over.

Looking to his right, he found Hermione lying on her stomach and burrowed beneath the covers. Her hair was the only thing visible, as half of it concealed her face while the other half was fanned out and spread over the pillow.

Gently removing Hermione's hand from his chest and tucking it beneath the duvet, Snape sat up in bed, stretching and wincing when he felt the renewed ache in his muscles. Having his arse handed to him by a megalomaniac wizard didn't help, but being surrounded by children between the ages of eleven and eighteen reminded him on a daily basis just how old he really was. To his annoyance, the younger the youths, the more they ran and jumped and screamed and shouted. Snape's saving grace was usually his stern features. All it took was The Look or a slight baring of his crooked teeth that sent the frolicking students nearly falling over themselves to quickly prance the hell away from him.

Snape was faster than he looked, though, and could outrun even the youngest of his pupils if he was so inclined. However, no one need know that small detail. In any event, he still felt every bit of his thirty-six years, particularly after a long night of bowing to the business end of the Dark Lord's wand.

Moving out of bed and leaving Hermione behind, Snape grabbed his wand from his bedside table, put on his robe and shuffled his way into the front room. Sitting down and flicking his wand at the hearth, Snape toyed with the idea of summoning breakfast.

_Sod it,_ he thought. He wasn't all that hungry, and his usually needed first cup of tea could wait. Purely because it was a holiday and there were no classes to teach, Snape was able to temporarily put off the liquid sustenance. Without that cup of tea, or coffee, if he felt like it, in the mornings, there was no telling what sort of mood he would be in, although Snape was sure his colleagues would claim that he only had two moods: bastard and son of Apollyon.

During his early days of teaching, McGonagall had accosted him in the Great Hall before he had been able to firmly set one arsecheek down onto his chair. She had begun griping about one of his students, a sixth-year boy that was prone to harmless mischief, who had Transfigured her entire supply of pins into lizards. McGonagall had nattered on and on, complaining about how she had been surprised that morning when she unlocked her classroom and found a congregation of the tiny green reptiles scattered about.

Snape wanted to grouse about not giving a damn about a few lizards, that surely a witch of her level—he knew not to mention age else she would be sure to hex him and leave him for dead between the respective platters of eggs and kippers—could handle a situation like so.

Instead, he had remained silent and glared back at the Gryffindor Head of House. His brooding look had been enough warning for McGonagall to purse her lips, but she did turn around and leave him alone. Perhaps she had somehow known that Snape had been five seconds from telling her that he personally was going to cancel his first Potions class to head down the Charms corridor and gather up every last bloody lizard from her classroom and have them delivered to her study if she didn't shut up and pass the English Breakfast.

Snape knew that some of his students could be little shits, but it was no excuse for him to be inconvenienced in the mornings. He expected stupidity and shenanigans from his students, considering that most witches and wizards of a tender age had all the sense of a goose egg and the subtlety of a pack of trolls. But it was the idiocy from the adults that made him lament. Perhaps if they weren't all so annoying, his attitude would take a turn for the lighter.

No. That would never happen.

Pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, Snape decided that he could do with that tea right about now.

_You're fickle as a fifth-year witch,_ he told himself as he stood up to toss some Floo powder into the hearth and summoned a house-elf. Twenty minutes later, Snape had his tea along with a tray of breakfast for him and the snoring Gryffindor still in his bed.

"You ought to see a doctor about that," Snape drawled thirty minutes later. He was sipping on his second cup of the steaming hot brew when he sensed Hermione standing behind him. "Last I check, the support beams down here were quite adequate, but you are more than welcome to hold up the wall if you prefer."

Hermione sniffed as she crossed into the room and sat across from Snape. "What do you, have eyes in the back of your head? And what do you mean, I ought to see a doctor. A doctor for what?"

"To irrigate your sinuses," he replied indifferently while pointing at the tray on the table. "Eat."

Hermione scowled at Snape, but she shuffled off the armchair to kneel beside the table. "My sinuses are fine, thank you very much," she tartly replied, piling toast, bacon and eggs onto her plate and fixing a cup of tea.

"So you say, Miss Granger."

"Hmph. Funny how my sinuses were fine before. Now all of a sudden they're a problem."

Hermione told herself that Snape was taking the piss; she knew she didn't snore. Slowly eating her breakfast, she switched her thoughts to everything that happened the night before. Snape was two hundred percent correct when he said that no matter what, he would have to continue carrying out whatever it was he was sworn to do.

Hermione still wasn't sure exactly what her tasks entailed. Usually when she had to do something, she only found out about said thing moments before it happened. Nothing was ever planned out, and it was a bit of an amazement that they had all made it this far. Harry had been running off to meet with Dumbledore at arbitrary times, yet he hadn't shared any of what they talked about.

"Severus?" Hermione asked. She had just finished her meal and was drinking the last of her tea.

"Yes?"

"Do you mind if I...why did you stop giving Harry Occlumency lessons last year?"

Hermione swore she could see Severus's jaw clench, and he seemed to be carefully constructing an answer.

"Because he's an insolent little sneak-thief," Snape snapped, growing hot under the collar as he thought about how Potter had snuck his way into his Pensieve and viewed something unintended for his eyes. "Why do you want to know?"

Hermione gave a little shrug, as if she regretted asking the question in the first place and was trying to feign disinterest. "I remember Harry saying that he had the hang of Occlumency, but I don't think I ever believed him. I guess I was wondering if it was something he still needed to know."

Snape looked at Hermione searchingly. "What makes you say that?"

"I mean...You-Know-Who was able to project thoughts into Harry's subconscious, make him see things even if they weren't real. I know how they were connected, and I know that you need eye-to-eye contact to use Legilimency, but what if something happened and I were to be near...you know. What if he saw my memories of us?"

"I have considered that," Snape replied thoughtfully. "What I can tell you is that is most likely the least of your worries. I know you are going to bristle at this, but some wizards deem the mind of a half-blood witch or wizard useless. It is highly unlikely that one would sully their mind by trying to ascertain thoughts from a Muggle-born witch. You would be insignificant to him in that aspect."

"Well..." Hermione trailed off, "I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't relieved. I don't even think I'm insulted by that asinine notion. But if they think that blood status is synonymous with intelligence, then the joke is on them."

Snape was in agreement with that point. In his life he had come across a slew of clueless pureblood witches and wizards, as well as brilliant Muggle-born witches and wizards, Hermione being one of them. Blood status truly had no bearing on one's intelligence. He had met plenty of purebloods that definitely could be taken down a peg or two, however, many of whom he shared classes with. Some of them were so pompous it was hard to see around their inflated egos, although Snape remembered with perfect clarity how brainless they had been back in school. If only he could have brewed and bottled intelligence and charged five Galleons per ounce...

"I still don't like the idea that someone could just barge their way into my head," Hermione was now mumbling rhetorically. "I see why Harry felt so violated."

_Violated is an understatement, _Snape ruminated inwardly. Potter had blatantly gone into his Pensieve and watched some of the most painful memories of his life, memories that he never spoke about but would never forget. Had he not caught the brat in time, he definitely would have gotten the full Monty.

"You figured out how to brew Polyjuice Potion your second year, as well as a successfully using Protean Charm last year. Though it's a shame you were unable to teach Potter Occlumency, at least I would have been able to keep my evenings free," Snape said ruefully.

"Well..." Hermione spluttered. "I wouldn't even know where to start!"

"As if that has ever stopped you before," he replied.

A pensive look crossed Hermione's face when Snape moved suddenly, whipping his wand out and pointing it at her. She just heard him cast, _"Legilimens!"_ without any sort of warning, and gave a loud yelp as memories began flashing past her eyes.

_Hermione hugging her parents the very last time she saw them before leaving for Grimmauld Place that summer...Standing in her Polyjuiced form and clinging to a shelf in Flourish and Blotts, watching as chaos ensued around her as she was suddenly grabbed from behind, becoming so frightened that she nearly became sick onto the floor...Crouched on the sofa in the dark of Snape's room at Grimmauld Place, attempting to hug the frowning wizard for the first time, only for him to pull away from her and put her out of his room...Fingers white at the knuckle as she dug them into Severus' arms...tears running down her cheeks as she cried out in pain the night she gave him her virginity... Her and Ginny rounding on Harry as they tried to pry the illicit Potions textbook out of his hand...McLaggen attempting to back her against the wall at Slughorn's party and letting out an 'oof!' of pain as she stomped on his foot and ran away... _

_"Noo!"_ Hermione cried out when the spell was finally lifted. Breathing hard and fervently clutching onto her head, she tried to regain control of her senses. Unaware that she had tumbled out of her chair, Hermione opened her eyes to find that she was almost kneeling on the floor. Her nightgown was twisted around her ankles, and it was clear that she had been about to hit her head on the floor had Snape not caught her in time.

"Has your curiosity been whetted?" he asked smoothly, his sallow, thin-lipped face hovering over hers. "Or shall I do it again?"

Hermione was shaking and unable to speak. It had been hard, much harder than she thought to throw Severus off. Even though she hadn't actually tried to prevent him from seeing her memories, as there wasn't much she had worth hiding, it had been uncomfortable to have him freely rooting about her head.

"I...I don't—" she stammered, still barely able to get a word out. God strike her dead if she ever attempted to nag Harry for something that she had no experience with. Snape's magic was every bit unyielding and relentless as his personality, and she understood why Harry had such difficulty repelling it.

She hated that feeling of not being in control. It was one thing for your body to refuse to cooperate, such as accidentally sitting the wrong way and your foot falling asleep, rending one unable to walk for awhile. But being unable to use her mind the way she wanted...

When Snape turned his wand on her, it was if she had been forced to watch certain events of her life replay before her very eyes, only she had been able to feel each companying emotion that went with each memory. Had it been anyone else that boldly took the liberty of dashing through her memories with the ease one would use to read a book or watch the telly, she definitely would have felt violated. Especially considering the one memory that involved her and Snape not wearing any clothes, and her lying beneath him.

Snape pulled Hermione to her feet and guided her back into the armchair. She was so shaken up by the unexpected yet brief attack on her mind, that she never noticed the calculating look he was giving her. Snape's brain rapidly extracted bits of information and put them together, yet he was shrewd enough to keep it to himself for the time being.

"I don't know how you do it," said Hermione. She had finally calmed down, and was curled up in the armchair with her feet tucked beneath her. "That was harder than I thought it would be."

"Ah, finally you understand that everything isn't as cut and dry as you believe it to be," Snape told her.

"Well, I know _that,_" Hermione replied. "I currently have a very good Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who let us know in no uncertain terms that our education for said subject also lies beyond the pages of a book."

"Your teacher sounds as if he knows what he's talking about," Snape drawled. "Hopefully the rest of your classmates take heed of his words, although there's a better chance that Binns would voluntarily give up teaching first."

"Hmm, or maybe Professor Trelawney will cut back on the cooking sherry," Hermione added, wrinkling her nose for emphasis.

"Not bloody likely," Snape muttered, shaking his head in disgust.

* * *

An hour later, Snape put Hermione out of his room, explaining that he had something to do. Hermione didn't mind, figuring that she should show face in Gryffindor Tower just in case her Head of House came around.

That brief worry had been for naught, as McGonagall only came to the dormitory when something was amiss. The common room was quiet, and Hermione settled into a squashy armchair. The earlier conversation with Snape left her on edge, which in turn made Hermione dig out her copy of _Confronting the Faceless. _She sat with the textbook splayed open on her lap, poring over the first chapter, even though she had already read the book front to back, as well as all the addendums.

Crookshanks had made his way down from the dormitory and settled on top her legs, deeming her shins an appropriate place for a nap.

Keeping still so as not to disrupt her cat, Hermione continued going through her book at a moderate pace. Chapter three was dedicated to a plethora of ways on blocking curses and the like, including stances to take and complicated looking way to wave your wand.

_This is rubbish,_ Hermione snapped to herself. _What good would it do if a Death Eater had grabbed onto your hair and held his wand to your throat? What then, should you wave your wand in a three-sixty degree angle and poke him in the eye with it? Or perhaps use a grand sweeping gesture a la Lockhart, practically warning your opponent of your next move? Leave it to Lockhart, he would have had us believe that his ugly turquoise robes held protective enchantments in the fibers. _

It was clear that whoever wrote many of the textbooks were working on theory alone, as it seemed they had never actually experienced duelling or hand-to-hand combat. Unorthodox Snape's teaching methods may be, Hermione found that she learned more from him than a book. Not to mention the DA meetings she and her friends had the previous school year. If not for those meetings, then there had been no telling what the outcome would have been when they all fought the Death Eaters.

Snape seemed not to mind teaching someone so long as they were willing to listen, and Hermione wondered if he would be able to give her some more pointers. If being Harry Potter's friend taught her nothing, it was that she needed to be prepared across all fronts.

Speaking of Harry...she missed him and Ron and Ginny. Hopefully Harry and Ginny had been able to spend time with one another without Ron's ginger head poking up every other minute. Hermione had worried that Ginny was going to seriously hex her brother one day if he kept up with being a nuisance.

One evening, Ginny confided to Hermione that she once thought Lavender was the sort that had to get naked just to count to ten. Hermione thought the statement was mean, and tried her best not to laugh. In all honesty, Lavender wasn't _too_ bad. She was better than some of her fellow Gryffindors; in Care of Magical Creatures, she had been one of the few that actually remained behind when Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts had gotten loose and tried to attack the class.

That lesson had been hellish. They all ended up with burnt and torn school robes. Neville had gained a busted lip, which hadn't been the Skrewts fault so much as his own, as he had tripped over his own feet and took a dive headfirst onto the top of Hagrid's heavy shoes, which were nearly the size of the large pumpkins that grew in the back of his hut. Lavender never complained as she dodged one of the Skrewt's long stingers, although her best friend had been nothing but useless. Parvati had taken to fleeing and squealing worse than four-year-old who was beneath the threat of being chased by another child with a boogey on their finger.

Hermione's only brief run-in with Lavender had occurred right at the beginning of the school year. It was evident that the witch was getting sulky when she saw Ron and Hermione in the common room, their heads together as they went over a length of parchment. Lavender huffed and puffed until Ron looked up. Hermione tartly pointed out that she was helping Ron finish his homework, and unless Lavender was volunteering to take her place, then by all means to keep her mouth shut until they were done. Lavender's cheeks had blossomed slightly, and she mumbled something about having her own work to finish before scurrying off.

That entire exchange annoyed Hermione, but she had also been amused. She was hardly the 'girly' sort of witch, and to think that another felt threatened by her was an odd yet refreshing change.

It was obvious that someone else now felt threatened, only it was by an inanimate object. Crookshanks had woken up and grown tired of watching his human reading her book, and was now demanding attention.

"Move, Crooks," Hermione told her cat, who had crawled up her body and settled down on her chest. Hermione huffed, barely able to see her book over the furry ginger mound.

Crookshanks turned his head and focused his beady yellow eyes on Hermione's face before poking his tongue out and swiping it down the length of his leg. He then continued staring expectantly at her, as if mentally willing her to put her book down and get up from the sofa.

"I know that look. Alright then, if you get off my chest I can get your lunch."

With one last lingering look, Crookshanks slithered his way over Hermione's shoulder and jumped down onto the floor. He had been patient enough, watching her turn pages and muttering to herself until the hushed sounds lulled him asleep, but enough was enough. It was very well for her to read for hours on end. Sometimes she read so long that he had to bat his paws at her just to gain her attention. In extreme cases, prostrating himself on top of her feet or book was called for.

Crookshanks knew his mistress never meant any harm; she was the type that became so wrapped up in other activities that she sometimes forgot about everything else around her. He also noticed that as of late she smelled different, although the source of this new scent had yet to be discovered. Perhaps it had something to do with that fact that she had left him alone in her room for the past few days, but he didn't mind. During the day, the other humans let him out of the room, and the castle held an unending amount of nooks and crannies for him to hunt for mice and spiders. Whenever he was ready for a nap, her unoccupied bed was quite large and he had his pick of spots. Also, beneath her pillow was a suitable place to keep his toys (a handful of Butterbeer corks).

Food trumped thoughts of the empty bed/hiding place for corks, and Crookshanks tucked into his food dish that had been hastily filled with a swish of Hermione's wand.

"Is that better, Crookshanks?" Hermione asked, running her fingers through his fur as he ate. "Are you going to let me finish my book?"

Crookshanks was too busy chewing, and didn't bother with turning his head in Hermione's direction. Hermione, seeing that her familiar no longer had need of her as he had been fed and watered, walked back over to the sofa and sat down.

An three-day old copy the _Daily Prophet_ had been left behind on the table, and Hermione reached over to pick it up between two fingers. Like always, the paper was filled with the same rubbish articles, giving superficial reports on the many people that had gone missing from the wizarding world. The way each story was written, people may as well have vanished into thin air.

The truth was quite clear to most as to the true events surround the wizarding world, but Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was fighting the proverbial tooth and nail to keep everything under wraps. True, even the smallest thing tended to send the masses into a frenzy of worry. But how long would the Ministry lie and placate? It was irrefutable: things _would_ come to a head. It was a fact that couldn't be denied, no matter what the Ministry said or believed.

Hermione didn't know how things would play out in the future, and if she was being honest with herself, part of her didn't want to know. There were too many uncertain variables, which usually led to something catastrophic. Still, she vowed to stand by her best friend, although even she had to admit that this entire thing was bigger than him.

She wondered if Harry was sometimes working beneath the illusion that he had to be the one to single-handedly save everyone. Hermione didn't to say it, but inside she told herself that the mounting tension between Light and Dark, good and bad, had more to do with a single sixteen-year-old wizard. Furthermore, when small children lost their parents, they didn't understand that Harry Potter had failed at some mysterious task. All they knew was that mummy or daddy was gone, and would never come back.

The more Hermione read, the more worked up she became, until finally she had enough and tossed the _Daily Prophet _back onto the table.

"Should be the _Daily Prevaricator,_" she mumbled under her breath.

As mad as Luna Lovegood's father's paper, _The Quibbler_, was, Hermione had to admit that as of late the stories in it were worth reading. Of course, said articles were next to or beneath something about Blibbering Humdingers or some other mythical creature. Xenophilius Lovegood was just as dotty as his daughter, but both were keener than everyone believed.

Speaking of keen wizards... Hermione wondered how everything with Snape was going to go once classes resumed. It was easy to sneak around now, taking into consideration that Hogwarts was mostly empty and the remaining teachers kept to themselves. Hermione still had yet to lay eyes on the headmaster. When she mentioned her observation to Severus, his face became a bit pinched yet he said nothing.

It was no matter, as she figured if there was something she needed to know, Severus would tell her.

* * *

Hermione spent the remainder of her holiday week with Snape. While she spent most of her days studying, all her nights ended with her falling asleep next to him. While the professor still seemed to be on edge, it usually took thirty minutes or so before he became relaxed in Hermione's presence.

Now it was the last day before the students were returning to Hogwarts, and Hermione was trying not to think about the fact that she would, once again, be sleeping alone.

"No doubt your bespeckled mate will return tomorrow evening, begging you to help him finish his assignments," Snape remarked without looking up from his book.

The two were in his study, sitting before the hearth and reading. It had been gloriously quiet until Snape made the remark about Ron. Hermione couldn't help the snort that erupted, as she knew the professor was most likely right.

"Does the boy do any homework on his own?" Snape went on to ask wryly. "Why am I asking that when I already know the answer."

"Yes, well, he starts it on his own," Hermione laughed. "Usually he'll ask me to check it over. Sometimes I make him let me check it over, else he'll just hand in any old thing."

"Gives new meaning to the phrase 'bone-idle'," Snape grunted. "No idea where he gets it from. I understood his parents were more of the studious type."

Hermione paused as she tried to think of a younger Mr and Mrs Weasley. She could picture them being the studious sort, even if they had a more relaxed attitude when it came to other things. Percy was the only one who seemed to have a ten-foot pole stuck up his arse. Even though Hermione had never been the 'life-of-the-party' type, even she knew a good joke upon hearing it. Percy Weasley, on the other hand... One could say that tapioca had more of a personality than Percy. Hermione had only spoken to him a few times, and even then each time he managed to bore her to tears.

"I have no idea, either, but I'll worry about that later," Hermione said, standing up and placing her book on the armchair cushion. "Do you mind if I shower? Moaning Myrtle was having a cry in the prefects' bath and I didn't want to intrude. Or arbitrarily get blamed for something that I didn't do."

Snape shook his head at mention of the ghost who sometimes took to weeping in inconvenient places and harassing unsuspecting students. Moaning Myrtle rarely came down to the dungeons, but Snape had heard his Slytherins talking about the ghost popping in on them while they were in the midst of bathing. A brief chat with the headmaster ensured that Myrtle refrained from doing so anymore.

"Go on," he now told Hermione, who began wrestling her curls into a bun atop her head while making her way to his bathroom.

After a few minutes of listening to Hermione moving about, he realised that instead of the shower running, he heard the bathtub being filled.

"Changed your mind?" he asked from the doorway of the bathroom. Hermione was lying back with her head on the round edge of the tub. The water filling the basin was clear, as Snape didn't take baths, but even if he did, perfumed bubbles wasn't something that he would willingly use. He wasn't that pouf, Lockhart, for Merlin's sake.

"I figured I might as well," Hermione replied, turning her head to look at him. "Why don't you get in with me? There's more than enough room."

"I prefer showers," Snape told her, standing stiffly with both arms folded across his chest.

"Oh, Severus, come on," Hermione wheedled with a grin. "You already hinted that there was no telling when I would be able to spend time like this with you again, so humour me. Please?"

"Will it put an end to your nagging?"

"Hmm, maybe. And I don't nag."

Snape shot her a derisive glare, but he did step into the bathroom. Untucking his white shirt from his trousers, he slowly removed everything and was soon completely naked.

"There, not so bad, is it?" Hermione asked, moving to the other end of the tub so he could slide in. "And you didn't even melt."

"Do be quiet, Miss Granger," Snape ordered smoothly, closing his eyes and tilting his head back.

Snape couldn't remember the last time he bothered actually sitting in a tub. Showers were sufficient, as he was always rushing and preferred to get bathing over with quickly as possible. But the feel of the hot water lapping over his aching body, the heat soaking into his bones, was divine. He had a sneaking suspicion that Hermione was smiling at him from the other end of the tub, yet he was so relaxed that he couldn't be bothered to open his eyes and check.

Hermione was in fact rather giddy. She didn't know why she was so amused at the sight of Severus Snape sinking further into the water until the ends of his black hair became soaked, but perhaps it was because some of the lines of worry in his face seemed to have disappeared.

"I think he likes it," she said teasingly, sliding her foot through the water until her toes grazed the inside of Severus' thigh. His flaccid cock touched the top of her foot, and Hermione was unable to resist prodding it lightly with her big toe.

"Very nice," Snape drawled, catching Hermione's foot in one hand and tickling her instep with a finger.

"No!" Hermione shrieked, snatching her foot back as she was terribly ticklish. "I'll behave."

"You are physically unable to behave," Snape told her. "I'm sure your lips ache from merely uttering that untruth."

"Now that is _not_ true," Hermione protested, sloshing the bath water around as she scooted closer to Severus. "Budge up," she said, pushing at his shoulder to sit behind him.

Severus moved forward to allow Hermione to move into place. Her small, wet breasts pressed into his back as she leaned against him and reached out to grab the soap from the holder. He was on the verge of asking what the hell she was doing when her hands began rubbing soap lather onto his back. Hermione's fingers were little but they were strong enough to melt some of the tension from his limbs.

Even though he hadn't said it, a million things had been weighing heavily on Snape's mind, even before Hermione came knocking at his door. He was in quite a snippy mood, even though it had nothing to do with her. Hermione had ignored the snark and curled up in her armchair with a book, remaining quiet until Snape had been first to break the silence.

They had no usual routine, although every night ended with them naked and covered in sweat, tangled up in his sheets. So when Hermione suggested that he join her in the bath, he figured what the hell. She took her time washing his back and hair, and now had both arms wrapped around his torso as she planted kisses along his damp shoulder.

Hermione ran her palms over the slim contours of Snape's chest, sliding them down until she reached his stomach. Down those little fingers traveled until they were beneath the water and touching the coarse hair between his legs.

Snape 's breathing deepened slightly, yet he didn't make a sound as Hermione's fingers enclosed around his semi-erect length. As she slowly stroked him to full attention, her other hand continued caressing his abdomen. Hermione was literally wrapped around him; her legs were on the outside of his thighs, her toes pressing into his skin, and she was holding him in a sort of bear hug. Every so often she would nuzzle her face against him before pressing a kiss onto his back or shoulder blade.

Hermione only stopped long enough to move in front of him. She was amazed that Severus was able to keep still as she explored his body. Whenever he touched her, even using the lightest of strokes, she found it hard to remain in one place. But he was enjoying her caresses; that much was evident.

Her knees flanked Severus' left thigh, and Hermione slipped both arms around his neck, resuming with kissing him all over. A quiet moan escaped his lips as Hermione's tongue darted across his pulse, and his arms instinctively went around her waist to pull her closer.

"Oh, that feels good," she sighed as his fingers slid down to her behind, gently squeezing and kneading the fleshy orbs. Severus lifted his thigh slightly while urging Hermione's hips further down, encouraging her to rub herself against him.

"Touch me," he said in a low voice, grasping her left hand and pressing it down against his cock.

While Hermione continued fisting the heavy length beneath the still hot bath water, Severus brushed his lips against hers until she opened her mouth. Just as his tongue flicked out at hers, his grasp tightened on her body and he helped her rock against him in a steadier rhythm.

Hermione moaned softly, all the while continuing to kiss Severus. The waterlogged hair covering his slim thigh pressed against her folds, and each time she slid her hips back, the hood of her clit was stimulated. Just as Hermione was about to press herself harder against him, Severus shifted her off his leg and rose slightly to sit on the edge of the tub. Water ran down his open legs, and his ruddy-tipped erection pointed straight in her direction.

"Suck me, Hermione. I want to feel your mouth."

Those words alone made Hermione tremble, and she eagerly rose to her knees and moved between Severus' legs. Grasping his length in one hand, she wasted no time in sucking him into the heated cavern of her mouth, making Severus' legs twitch slightly.

Hermione loved the feel of him in her mouth. She loved the way he moaned as her tongue swirled around the head of his cock just before engulfing it completely with a small sucking noise. He never grabbed on her head or tried to force her to go deeper.

She had gotten confident enough to experiment and try to see what Severus liked best. Usually she was rewarded with a deep groan and a slight writhing of his narrow hips. Severus was now doing both, although he hunched over to cup one of her breasts in his hand, his long fingers tweaking its nipple.

Riding Severus' thigh had excited her, but now his groans combined with his fingers playing with her nipple sent little jolts of pleasure to her clitoris. Without losing the rhythm of her mouth and tongue licking and sucking at him, Hermione shifted her weight in the bathwater to spread her thighs. While the hard bottomed tub was uncomfortable against her knees, she ignored it, desperate to quell the ache in her throbbing clit.

Hermione still had a mouthful when she let out a deep moan. Severus opened his eyes long enough to see the little witch's hand buried between her thighs, frantically rubbing herself. The sight was a treat for his eyes. His vantage point allowed him to view Hermione touching herself, as well as her soft lips wrapped around his cock. Just when he was trying to hold off his release, Hermione sucked hard enough that her cheeks hollowed inward, while her saliva soaked fingertips massaged little circles into the sensitive patch behind his balls.

Severus sharply inhaled as his body jerked against Hermione. He wanted to warn her but suspected that she knew he was about to come. Either way, he cried out as his cock pulsated and shot out its release right into her mouth. Hermione never stopped, and his legs were trembling when he finally urged her head away.

"That wasn't too bad," she said with a thoughtful look on her face. "The taste, that is."

"I'm sure you taste better," Snape chuckled hoarsely. "Now, let's continue this in the bedroom."

The two had barely dried off once they were in Snape's room. He flicked his wand at the hearth and the orange glow filled the front of the room. Another few flicks, and an armchair and ottoman were before the hearth.

Hermione was still clutching her damp towel around her body when Snape pushed her down into the armchair. He sat on the ottoman before her and grasping onto her legs, pulled her closer until her bum was still on the towel, yet at the edge of the armchair.

The throbbing between her legs had never stopped; it surprisingly intensified when she heard Severus cried out as he came in her mouth. Now his dark head was buried between her legs, the ends of his damp hair tickling her skin as he nibbled along her inner thigh.

Hermione held onto the sides of the armchair, desperate to not buck her hips and smack Severus in the face. But he seemed to take great pleasure in tormenting her, as he was now tracing the tip of his pointer between her folds. Biting her lip and looking down, Hermione was able to see the moisture clinging to his fingertip in the glow of the fire.

Her entire body felt heated, and Hermione knew it had little to do with the hearth. In and out, up and down, that long finger went, pausing briefly to circle around the tight nub of her clit. Mewling and writhing with increasing frustration, Hermione attempted to push her pelvis into Snape's face.

"Be still," he ordered silkily, using one forearm to keep her pelvis in place.

Hermione nearly howled, but she tried her best to keep still. Somehow she had slid further down in the armchair until her back was on the edge of the cushion, yet she had both feet braced on Severus' ottoman.

The wizard continued his languorous, torturous exploration on her body, until Hermione was wrought with need. By that point, she was unable to keep from trembling each time Severus touched a particularly sensitive area. His fingers were embedded in her slick heat, rubbing and pressing into the sensitised flesh. Yet just before Hermione was about to come, he would stop and she would cry out in anguish.

"What have I ever done to you?!" she spat, slapping both hands onto the armchair and trying to not claw holes into the leather. The towel beneath her was bunched up and soaked with the continuously running juices of her denied orgasm, and Hermione knew Severus was about to see tears if he didn't let her come soon.

"Shush," Snape told her, sounding unrepentant. "Pinch your nipples, keep them hard for me. And don't close your eyes."

Hermione was a bit shy at the prospect of actually watching Severus, but she was so turned on and desperate and needy that she was willing to do whatever he said. Soon as she began rolling her nipples between her thumb and pointer, Snape lowered his head and softly ran his tongue over her engorged sex.

Hermione yelped at the contact, but made sure to keep her eyes open. Severus used to fingers to separate her folds, while using two fingers on the other hand to massage her fluttering walls. It was too much to bear, and it felt like the slightest touch would send her over.

She watched intently as soft, thin lips gently capturing the hood of her clit, pursing around it and sucking lightly before letting go. By the fifth suck Hermione was panting with impatience and pinching her nipples so hard she was in danger of breaking a delicate blood vessel.

Heaven forgive her if she ever spoke ill of snakes. Severus' dark eyes shone up at her as his tongue darted back out and flicked at her clit. Using the flattened side, he ran it in broad, sweeping circles across her stiffened bud. His fingers were subtlety shifting inside her, moving just so to keep her on edge, yet it was that warm lapping tongue that caught her unawares and rapidly brought her to a screaming, shaking, and very wet, climax.

Hermione came so hard that she forgot every one of Severus' previous directions; she couldn't look at him, much less keep her eyes open, and her hands were fisted into his hair. Her walls tightened to the brink of pain before breaking off into strong spasms that made her tense from head to toe with each one. He continued licking and fingering her well past the point of sanity, causing Hermione to nearly jerk out of his grasp .

When the pulsing against his lips and chin tapered off, Severus sat up. He still had two fingers inside Hermione, and her walls gripped him just as strongly as he brought her a second release. The witch's chest was heaving and she was completely limp by the time he pulled her hips into his lap, replacing his fingers with the blunt tip of his cock and slowly pushing inside her.

Hermione was scrunched in an awkward position in the armchair, her head almost buried in its cushions. Besides getting dizzy she suddenly felt completely overwhelmed, and tried bracing herself to sit up.

"Alright?" Severus asked after he grasped onto Hermione's shoulders and helped her up.

Hermione buried her face in his neck and wordlessly nodded her head. Severus was still deeply embedded inside her, although his body was still. HIs dark eyes remained focused on Hermione's face, only closing when she pressed both hands against his gaunt cheeks and pulled him towards her for a kiss.

Severus found himself completely ensnared by the witch is his lap. She had let go of his face and slid her arms around his neck, sliding her fingers through his hair as they kissed. Even though he was still perched on the low, round ottoman, Hermione had wrapped her legs around his slender waist, her ankles locked at the small of his back.

When she wanted more, Hermione rocked her hips against his, urging Severus to move. He needed little encouragement and began pushing back into her. Because of their seated position, Snape was unable to lunge deeply as he normally would have, yet his slow, shallow thrusting seemed to have just as great an effect on Hermione.

Their noses were nearly touching, and Hermione's breath was warm against Severus' cheek. His long fingers bit into her hips, pressing almost deeply enough to leave bruises as he pulled the back witch to meet his every stroke.

Hermione was barely aware of the way she was clutching onto Severus. The feel of him in her arms was incredible, although it was difficult to say who was holding onto whom. Severus had moved his hands from her hips, and now had one hand at the nape of her neck and the other splayed across her lower back. Slowly his body rocked against hers, and the angle they were sitting in caused the tip of his cock to repeatedly stroke a spot that made Hermione breathless. Scared that he would stop if she moved, Hermione kept her hands firmly rooted to the slim curve of Severus' back, although she was tempted to slide them down to his behind and beckon him to go deeper.

Hermione was unaware that she was trembling in Severus' arms, but it was clear to him that she was on the brink of release. She was wet enough that it made a noticeable sound each time he plunged forward.

_Fuck! _he groaned inwardly. At first he had gone slowly because he planned on a repeat performance at some point that night, and he didn't want to make Hermione sore. But now the unhurried pace was sort of necessary. Between listening to Hermione beautifully calling out his name while her silken sheath gripped his cock, Severus was two seconds from taking her hard and fast. She felt so good that if it were possible, he would bury all of himself inside her.

Hermione's breath began coming in sharp little pants. Severus ground his hips against hers, and it was enough to set her orgasm off. The little witch was demanding as she clutched her lover against her, refusing to let go even after the waves of her climax tapered off.

Using that to his advantage, Severus easily lifted Hermione from the armchair and carrying her to his bed, placed her directly in the center. Her hair had come undone (alright, he loosened the bun when she was too distracted to notice) and was now strewn about the top of his duvet in all its frizzy glory. Her lips were swollen and a bit flushed from sucking him off and then getting nibbled on when they kissed— and it all made Hermione look even more alluring.

"Are we finished?" she was now asking Snape in a tone of desperation, sounding as if she wanted more.

"Not even a little bit," he replied.

Snape moved on top of Hermione, and his wet cock was pressing against her slick core. As much as he enjoyed being inside her, he also found pleasure in merely looking at her, especially when she was staring back at him as if he was the only person that mattered at the moment.

"Severus?" Hermione asked, lifting both hands to his shoulders and trying to pull him closer. "Kiss me, please?"

"Aren't you polite," he teased in a rich baritone, lowering his head to brush his lips against hers. "Where do you want to be kissed?"

"Anywhere. Wherever you want," Hermione sighed as she closed her eyes.

Snape allowed his weight to fully settle on top of Hermione, although she didn't complain. She began moaning softly as his lips pressed gentle kisses onto her temple, her cheeks, the delicate line of her jaw, and then her lips. Sliding down a bit, he moved on to the hollow of her throat, the jutting line of both collarbones, and the scar between her breasts.

That last kiss surprised Hermione, and she opened her eyes. However, her vision soon became blurred when Severus began nuzzling his face between her breasts, then shifting his head over to suck on an erect nipple. The sensation made her spine arch, and he slid one hand beneath her body to stroke her back.

A fleeting thought crossed Hermione's mind; she almost wanted to hate all other witches that came before her that had been intimate with the professor. _Her _professor.

If she had actually uttered that notion about being jealous, Snape would have laughed at her. Not a chuckle, but a full out laugh. He had never taken his time exploring a woman the way he was currently doing to Hermione, as he had never met the inclination to do so. Here and now was a different story. Snape was caught up in every little nuance; he was mesmerised by the different expressions that crossed Hermione's face whenever he did something she liked, and her little moans and gasps were enticing.

While it was hard to forget that he shouldn't even have his arms full of the naked and sweetly swooning young witch, Snape had to admit that he was glad all the same.

Young men gossiped just as much if not more than their female counterparts. Often a topic of discussion was comparing witches from different Houses. Snape had the misfortune of overhearing the mind-numbing, IQ-lowering prattle on more than one occasion. Surprisingly, Granger's name had come up, and one of the bawdy youths suggested that she had a knee-locking charm in place, and that if she did finally take her nose out of a book to give someone a chance, that she would come to bed with a written list of instructions and still would most likely be colder than the Ice Queen.

Insipid idiots.

Not that anyone would ever find out, but Hermione turned out to be just as passionate, if not more, than an older witch with more experience. While some of her attempts had been fumbling, she reacted to Snape with great enthusiasm and he found that she was quite amorous. Even when they weren't connected at the hip, Hermione's hands would almost always end up in his hair or touching some other part of his body. It seemed that she enjoyed sleeping with him just as much as sleeping next to him, And kissing...well, she had definitely changed his mind about that.

Now she was writhing about and clutching onto his shoulders and he lightly nipped and traced his tongue over the curve of her hip.

"No more," Hermione suddenly told him, propping herself up on both elbows and looking down. "Stop toying with me, unless you _want _me to explode."

"You were the one that wanted to be kissed," Snape replied unrepentantly, using his lips to work his way back up the length of her body. "It's not my fault that you weren't specific. Besides, you liked it, so stop complaining."

"Oh, alright, you have a point," Hermione laughed, curling one leg around Severus. "But I want you."

"You have me, witch," Snape said in a low, rumbly voice as he covered Hermione's lips with his.

She was still so wet that he was able to enter her hands-free and with ease, and Hermione whimpered into his mouth at the feel of being penetrated. This time around, Severus moved within her faster, and Hermione was soon melting in his arms.

Severus reached down to cup Hermione's bottom in his hands, tilting her hips up and making sure to stroke that spot which never failed to make her scream. His lips were firmly planted at the side of her neck. Hermione's skin was clean from their previously shared bath and tasted faintly of salt, yet her familiar sweet scent remained and Snape took a deep whiff. His teeth and tongue worried the area right below her ear, and he was sure he was going to leave a love bite like some horrid schoolboy, but he didn't care. Some perverse part of him wanting to see his mark on Hermione's skin. He wanted to stake his claim, and that was one small way to do so.

Hermione had her arms around his waist, and she was palming and squeezing his arse and he plunged into her. She didn't give a damn about expressing her want, which was also clearly displayed on her face.

"Oh _gods, _Severus, you feel so damned good!" she moaned into his hair, which she had a faceful of.

Hermione's fingers were clutching and squeezing anywhere she could reach, and she was trying to brace her feet flat on the bed to push her hips higher. But Severus kept moving in a way that threw her off, and shortly after, it took one sharp rotation of his pelvis and Hermione was instantly overcome. A guttural cry tore from her throat, mingling with a low growl from Severus as he quickly followed behind.

Long after their breathing returned to normal, Severus remained on top of Hermione, lightly kissing the corner of her mouth. Hermione lie with her eyes closed, idly stroking his damp back and making sounds like a well-fed kitten.

"I'd rather those sounds than your snoring," Severus mumbled into her ear.

"You're lucky I'm knackered else I'd..." Hermione's words were cut off by a wide yawn. She felt Severus roll off her, and after he pulled her into his side and began stroking her hair, the last thing on her mind was finishing her statement.

* * *

_**xx**_


	24. Chapter 24

**_A/N: Hello! First off, thank you for your lovely words and well wishes! Surgery went well, I was still being silly in the hospital and even cajoled a nurse into bringing me chocolate ;) Now I have a brace and start therapy next week, so I can type as little, but I might have to do more frequent updates with less chapters so I don't leave you lovely people hanging. _**

**_And I felt like the little kid that had to sit out at recess while everyone played, since everyone was updating their stories and I couldn't. So damn it, this one took all week to type but here it is. MrsHH let me use her eyes, thank you, my love. And since I'll be doing more reading, please drop me as line so I can read your fics. There are a few I'm already in the middle of, I can always use more._**

**_Reviews make my wrist feel better :) *puppy dog eyes* and thank you for the ones you left, as always! You all are wonderful._**

* * *

In the wee hours of the morning, things continued on as normal, relatively speaking, at least. Peeves had been drawing on the walls, only to get caught and sent away by the Bloody Baron. The owlery was empty, as most of its nocturnal inhabitants were still out hunting beneath the glow of bright moonlight. Crookshanks was curled up a few inches away from the stove in the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, fast asleep with one paw over his face.

Even though nothing out of the ordinary was going on, Hogwarts' walls could have been crumbling at that very moment and Hermione and Snape still would have been disinclined to let go of one another and get out of bed.

Hermione had been the initiator for their second round. It hadn't taken much for her to convey her wishes; she was still naked and had been sleeping with her back to Snape's chest. His flaccid cock had been nestled perfectly in the cleft of her behind, and all it had taken was a bit of wriggling before he was fully erect and poking her in the lower back.

Snape merely positioned Hermione's leg over his hip and slowly made his way into her body. Possessively cupping one breast while keeping up with an easy rhythm, he easily brought the witch to a quiet release. The only sound betraying their activity had been their laboured breathing and the slight rustling of bed sheets as the two moved beneath them.

The third coupling had been initiated by Snape. What started off as slow only slightly increased in tempo, yet quickly became intense. Snape was buried deeply as humanly possible inside Hermione, while holding onto her as if she might vanish right before his eyes.

The only thing Hermione could offer was that she had been twisted like a pretzel into a variety of positions. They finished off with her lying on top of Snape, her back to his chest with her legs flanking his. His arms encircled her waist, and his middle finger methodically stroked her clit while he leisurely thrust up into her.

Hermione had tilted her head all the way back, her face so close to Snape's that her lips brushed against his cheek each time he moved. If her hair was smothering him, he never said anything. He had been too taken by the sound of her soft moans and the feel of her soft, sweat-dampened body draped over his that even the unruly curls covering his nose and right eye hadn't been a distraction.

Between being completely enveloped in Severus' arms while he feverishly slid up into her body, along with his long fingers continuously sliding through her wet flesh to pinch and pluck at the small sensitive bud while his other hand firmly cupped her breast, Hermione found herself in a fog. Right when she felt that familiar clenching in the pit of her stomach, Severus' teeth nipped at the side of her neck, and her quiet moans switched into a loud keening. Her walls fluttered around and clamped down around Severus, whose movements grew exaggerated as he soon spilled inside her, all the while grinding his hips into hers and breathing heavily into her ear.

She had been completely worn out by the time they were done, although she hadn't wanted to go back to sleep. To do so meant that morning would soon come, which inevitably meant that the Christmas holiday was over, thus forcing Hermione to return to the dormitory.

Hermione remained draped like a sleepy kitten on top of Severus, barely making a sound as he ran his knuckles along the side of her rib cage. One minute she had been fighting to keep her eyes open, completely limp and sprawled atop the wizard. But before Hermione could protest, she had been tipped over onto her side and her head met with one of the pillows. Vaguely aware that she was mumbling something about not wanting to close her eyes, Snape threatened that she had better go to sleep else he would force a sleeping draught down her throat.

That threat, however, had been empty. Snape had also tired himself out and the last thing he felt like doing was walking to his front room to root through a chest of readymade potions that he always kept on hand. He had been somewhat reluctant to move Hermione in the first place; she wasn't that heavy to keep lying on top of him, and her head fitted perfectly beside his with the position they had lain in.

Hermione continued with her incoherent rambling about not being able to see the professor any longer since the Christmas break was over, fussing into the pillow about what did he expect her to do, that perhaps she should pretend that nothing ever happened between them.

Snape had grown irritated with Hermione's whining, which had been punctuated with a few yawns, when he finally snapped at her to be quiet. Lowering his head to brush his lips against hers, he calmly explained in a hushed tone that while their meetings were sure to be infrequent, perhaps they would find a way to come together again.

That had been enough to appease Hermione, for she let out a drowsy 'thank you' before dropping off into a light snore.

When daylight broke, rather, Hermione assumed it was daylight as she was unable to see anything being ensconced in Snape's dungeon-level rooms. As far as she was concerned, it was dark o'clock, and the hour was well suited only for remaining burrowed beneath the duvet with a pillow over her head.

But no, she had to go back to Gryffindor Tower and pretend that her mind wasn't elsewhere while waiting for her friends to return to the school. So with one last kiss from a bare-chested and tousled-haired Severus, Hermione dressed and went through her rigmarole of skulking through the castle and back to the dormitories.

Breakfast wouldn't be served for another few hours, although food was the last thing on her mind at the moment. She wasn't like Ron; the sky could be falling, the entire world going up in a lusty orange blaze, people screaming, hell and bedlam breaking loose, fire and brimstone taking place, and the boy would be cursing the fact that the end of the world arrived before lunchtime.

After returning to the dormitory, Hermione decided that she might as well sleep for another few hours. She changed into pyjamas and pulled back the curtains shut around her bed. Crookshanks was in the middle of her duvet, curled into a furry ginger ball with his bushy tail neatly tucked around his body. With all the displeasure only a feline could muster, he opened one yellow eye and turned up his squashed face at Hermione when she shifted him to the foot of her bed.

If cats could laugh, Crookshanks surely would have. His human had just slid beneath the blankets, arranging a pillow beneath her head when she let out a tired-sounding, "What on earth...?" before withdrawing a handful of Butterbeer corks.

"Thank you, Crooks," said Hermione groggily, leaning over to put the corks on her bedside table. Crookshanks had closed his eye and resumed his sleep, briskly waving his tail about as if gesturing for Hermione to do the same.

* * *

Hermione was curled up on her side, lightly snoring with her face buried into her pillow. At first she balked at the idea of sleeping alone, especially after considering that she hadn't been doing so ever since the start of the holiday. However, a night full of ardent sex with the professor left her knackered, and she fell asleep moments after her head hit the pillow.

Now a timid voice was calling her name and she wondered if she was dreaming. Could Crookshanks talk? No, and perhaps it was a good thing, as he would most likely boss her around from sun up to sun down.

_Feed me, human._

_Tell the orange idiot to do his own homework. And while he's at it to get the hell of my tail._

_Will you put down the book and get me some milk? I'm parched._

_I told you not to trust that dolt, but you know everything._

Even so, if her cat could talk, it wouldn't be in a soft, feminine voice.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" she mumbled, turning over and opening her eyes to find a member of her House standing at the side of her bed and holding curtains back with one finger. Bonnie was a fourth-year that had also stayed behind for the holiday. She was quiet and mostly kept to herself, but had been pleasant enough each time they passed in the dormitory. Now Bonnie was fully dressed and looked as if she felt badly for disturbing her.

"I'm sorry to wake you, but McGonagall is down in the common room and she's asking for you. She said it's urgent."

"Alright, thanks, Bonnie," Hermione replied in a groggy voice.

Hermione heaved a sigh and turned over in bed, willing herself to get up. Her mind was still muddled from being woken up, but it was a split second before she literally jerked upright as all sorts of scenarios began running through her mind. What did McGonagall want with her at— she paused to rub her eyes and pluck her wristwatch from the nightstand— nine-thirty on a Sunday morning?

Hermione wasn't particularly religious, but at that moment she would have lit a hundred candles and said two hundred novenas if it meant that McGonagall hadn't come calling on her to ask why shehad been traipsing through the castle at hours that could only be construed as insane.

Her heart was in her stomach as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and distractedly shoved her feet into slippers, completely missing the right shoe at first and causing her toes to meet with the cold floor. A bathrobe was hastily thrown over her pyjamas and Hermione rushed down the steps to the common room that was empty, save for an agitated Head of House.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall nodded, peering down at Hermione through her spectacles.

"Good morning, Professor," Hermione greeted cautiously, the knot in her stomach drawing tighter as she pondered the reason for McGonagall's aberrant visit. "Is everything alright?"

"I am aware of the time, but after you've made yourself presentable, there is something we need to discuss," the professor began without preamble. "I'll be waiting for you in my office."

"Alright, Professor," Hermione said, feebly nodding her head and watching as McGonagall turned and awkwardly climbed back through the portrait hole. Walking numbly back up to the girls' dormitory, Hermione immediately jumped to the worse possible reasons as to why she was being summoned to the professor's office.

_She knows,_ Hermione panicked inwardly. _That's the only thing I can think of. But how?_

Hermione didn't think that McGonagall knew about the Marauder's Map. Also, she had been extra careful when it came to sneaking in and out of the dormitories. There were the portraits and ghosts, but she had also made sure to avoid them.

Either way, while sleeping with Severus was admittedly amazing, she didn't think it worth risking him being sacked for cavorting with a student, or worse, sent to Azkaban.

If she had to make a comparison, then Hermione would say that Snape was somewhat like a poppy flower; interesting to look at, but once you peel back some of the outer layers, its exposed innards seemed innocuous but actually were enticing. Snape did look menacing; even if he were to wear light colours and smile—a real smile, not that smug upturning of his lips that was usually reserved for someone trodding on his nerves—people would most likely steer clear of him.

But to Hermione, after folding back some of Snape's proverbial petals (an idea which sounded preposterous to her, because there was nothing about the wizard that remotely screamed delicate or 'flower-like'), she found that she was, for all intents and purposes, addicted to the man like one became addicted to sticky-sweet opium. No doubt she was playing with fire, but if she needed to stop, then she would.

Hermione continued worrying herself into a right state. Opting to get her meeting with McGonagall over with, she rushed to shower and dress. Breakfast wasn't an option at that point because of the ball of tension still in her stomach and now throat. Her anxiety only increased when she stepped out of the shower, and right before covering herself with a towel, noticed the plethora of love bites marking her skin.

Immediately, Hermione thought of that last time in Snape's bed, and the way his wiry arms held in her place while his sharp knees dug into her inner thigh as he rolled his hips and nudged his way into her body. While she had been a bit tender from the first two times, her body felt hyper-sensitive and Hermione had easily become drunk on passion. Snape used slow, perfectly controlled movements to bury himself to the hilt, and Hermione came more times than she cared to count. She didn't even remember when he placed half of his markings on her skin, as she had been otherwise engaged and hadn't noticed much else at that moment.

_At least he left them where only I can see, _Hermione mused, looking at the small blotchy patch over her right nipple, as well as another on her left inner thigh. Lowering her eyes, on her hips she saw what looked like faint bruises that bore the shape of Severus' hands, and she remembered the way he gripped onto them as he let out a deep groan before erupting inside her.

Hermione stifled a groan, even though she was alone in the lavatory, and shivered at the vivid memory of Severus being inside of her.

_Only a few hours away from him, and already I'm a mess. Damn, do I really need to stop seeing him?_

_Yes, Granger, unless you __**want **__Severus to get into trouble._

_Oh__,__ shut up. __You don't even know if that's why McGonagall wants to talk to you. For all you know, she could have transformed into her Animagus form, and Crookshanks came across her and tried to get a little friendly, if you know what I mean._

_Right. Well, as disturbing __as that thought is, I suppose you have a point._

Absentmindedly tracing around the love bite on her breast, Hermione finally pulled the towel around her and dabbed the excess moisture away from her skin. She remained on edge as she got dressed, and had to convince herself to leave the lavatory and walk in the direction of McGonagall's office.

"Have a seat, Miss Granger," a solemn-faced McGonagall began, gesturing to a chair on the other side of her desk. "Normally Professor Dumbledore would be the one to speak with you about this, but seeing as the headmaster is not here, I've been asked to relay the message."

Hermione had been a bundle of nerves ever since stepping over the threshold of McGonagall's office, but the look on the elderly witch's face along with the heaviness in her voice made her worry for other reasons.

She soon found out why the professor looked so upset; over the course of the previous night, Death Eaters, namely Bellatrix Lestrange, and who appeared to be Fenrir Greyback, had gone to the Burrow and tried to burn it down. Luckily, they had been unsuccessful and neither Harry nor any of the Weasleys had been seriously hurt.

McGonagall was still talking, but Hermione found herself becoming distracted and she had to force herself to focus on the words coming out of the professor's mouth.

"Miss Granger, are you all right?"

"Yes...no... Sorry, Professor," she said in small voice.

Hermione was trying to downplay her anxiety, but she felt as if she had been punched in the stomach when McGonagall told her about the attack on her friends. Had she also gone to the Burrow, there was no telling what might have happened. True, McGonagall said that everyone was safe, and that Harry, Ron, and Ginny would be returning to Hogwarts via Floo within the hour. Yet it wasn't enough to tamper down the icy ball of fear that had taken up residence next to the ball of tension in her chest.

"Professor Dumbledore wanted you to be aware of the situation for obvious reasons," McGonagall continued, coming from around her desk to stand in front of Hermione.

"I understand," Hermione replied, "and I know to not say anything. But you say everyone is okay, right?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. Fortunately, things didn't get too out of hand. That is all; I won't keep you any longer. You may go," the professor told her with an air of finality, awkwardly patting her student on the arm before retreating to the other side of her desk.

Hermione stood up and ambled out of McGonagall's office. All that morning she had been sure that McGonagall was going to slap her with accusations of all sorts that stemmed from sneaking around with a certain dour Potions master. She had been relieved to find that her secret hadn't been found out, yet another worry neatly slid into place at the mere mention of Death Eaters.

Hermione got the idea that everyone believed she was imperturbable when year after year she and her friends had to face one thing after another. Yes, she may have given off that impression by behaving as if she knew everything, but truth be told, some part of her was always scared. She supposed that was normal; no fear at all tended to make a person foolhardy and they often rushed into things without thinking them through.

But it was getting harder and harder to keep it all together. Between studying for her NEWTs and wondering what the next day held in terms of a catastrophe involving Dark wizards or something equivalent, Hermione was reaching the end of an already short tether.

Even though she had been safely ensconced in Hogwarts when the attack on the Burrow occurred, it didn't stop her from going sick with worry over her friends. She almost felt guilty, especially when taking into consideration the way she spent her holiday. But it wasn't as if she knew there was going to be an attack. Hermione wondered if her mum had been onto something when she adamantly insisted that her daughter remain behind at school. While Hermione felt guilty, she was also relieved that she had listened to her.

_Mother knows best,_ Hermione wryly thought to herself.

Hermione returned to the dormitory and found that the common room was occupied. She wasn't in the mood to be around anyone, so she scooped up Crookshanks and carried him to one of the empty corridors where she sometimes visited whenever she wanted to be alone.

The little niche wasn't that popular as the entire area was out in the open, which deterred couples skulking about looking for a place to snog. However, it was out of the view enough that it was suitable for Hermione to sit down at, either with a book, her cat, or her thoughts to keep her company.

Crookshanks immediately jumped out of Hermione's arms once she sat down, and took to stalking around the area. Using her wand to conjure a small pile of feathers, Hermione waved one in his direction and laughed when he batted at it with one paw.

Once her familiar was thoroughly engaged, Hermione allowed her thoughts to turn back to her conversation with McGonagall. Harry and the Weasleys had Apparated to Grimmauld Place, and most likely had spent their morning talking to Aurors. McGonagall hadn't given all the hairy details about the attack, and Hermione wished that she was with her best friends to offer support. She didn't know how helpful she would be, as she still hadn't gotten over everything that happened to the previous school year, nor nearly being kidnapped in Flourish and Blotts over the summer. Trying to run out of a burning house while a sadistic witch and wizard shot hexes in every direction would definitely fuel the mental pressure she had been trying to escape.

Crookshanks seemed to pick up on Hermione's forlorn mood, because he picked up a feather between his tiny teeth while leaving the rest in a pile in the middle of the floor, and carried it over, dropping it at her feet. Hermione had no idea what Crookshanks meant for her to do with the feather, but she laughed anyhow and bent down to stroke his fur.

Seeing his mistress' pinched face breaking into a smile, the feline deemed his work done and trotted back over to his feathers.

* * *

"Severus, how was your break?"

Snape was perched beside Dumbledore, the tip of his ebony wand moving slowly over his blackened hand as he tried to determine how far the curse had spread throughout it. The headmaster's question gave him pause and he looked up briefly, trying to figure out if Dumbledore was being facetious.

The headmaster knew damn well that when Snape wasn't bending over and catering to the whims of either him or his other master, that he spent his time alone. Of course, for the first time he'd had someone to warm his bed for an entire week, but Dumbledore was in no need of that information.

"The same as always. Quiet, just the way I prefer."

Snape suspected that Dumbledore knew about him going to meet with the Dark Lord, but he only ever asked about those meetings whenever he was in need of information.

"There was an attack on the Weasleys' home this morning," Dumbledore continued with what Snape construed to be an air of accusation. "Were you aware it was going to happen?"

Snape grit his teeth and continued moving his wand over Dumbledore's hand. "No, I was not, Headmaster," he answered honestly. _It isn't as if Death Eaters give an itinerary of their misdoings for the day, _he added inwardly.

"You are supposed to be kept abreast of everything going on," Dumbledore told him, as if Snape was personally responsible for the attack.

"Is the Dark Lord aware of that point? Perhaps he should be informed," Snape replied dryly.

He was trying to remain respectful, but really he wanted to suggest that since he was already kneeling before Dumbledore, perhaps he could also kick him in his teeth. Snape thought it wonderfully nervy of the older wizard to basically suggest that his espionage skills were subpar, and he was almost tempted to ask if Dumbledore could trouble himself to compile a list of ways in which Snape could improve his methods. It was bad enough that Snape had been coerced and made to feel guilty until he agreed to a task in which case only his own death would help him to forget, but to be blamed for something that he had no control over was absurd.

"I'm not casting blame upon you, Severus," Dumbledore said as if he was able to read his thoughts. "I'm merely impressing upon you the importance of being kept informed of situations that are potentially hazardous to Harry and everyone surrounding him."

Snape made a small noise of disgust but didn't say anything; at that point he was not interested in the headmaster's shoddy apology. It wasn't even an apology; he merely rephrased his words while still pointing a gnarled finger. It seemed that the headmaster was never pleased no matter what he did, and would never be pleased.

While Dumbledore kept a world of secrets to himself, Snape had a vague idea that even young Potter was beneath the same type of pressure. Pawns on Dumbledore's chessboard, was how Snape often thought of himself and anyone else that the wizard audaciously ordered about. Snape was used to no one having regard for his personal welfare. Well, there was one person that barely came up to his shoulder that seemed to give a damn as of late, but that was it. Yet Potter was only sixteen, and Dumbledore thought nothing of sending the reckless boy to do his bidding.

Potter had to do Dumbledore's bidding, and Snape had to be his _au pair _and make sure that the idiot boy (and his sidekicks, depending on the situation) didn't kill himself in the process. Potter could return to Hogwarts with a scratch over his eye, and the entire hospital wing would be turned upside down to lay healing wand upon him. Snape could return to Hogwarts with his own blood blooming deep red patterns into his shirt and his brains leaking through his nostrils, and no one would blink an eye.

Sometimes moving about undetected and keeping to the shadows could be a blessing as well as a curse.

Seeing that it was pointless to continue harping on his own sad life, Snape ended the spell on Dumbledore's blackened and withered hand and stuck his wand back into a hidden pocket of his robes.

Snape had been in his rooms that afternoon when Dumbledore sent a Floo call to his front room, requesting his presence in the tower office. He had been in the middle of reading, attempting to take in the last bit of peace and quiet before the little bastards—_students_— returned to the school. In between pages, his mind drifted to thoughts of the young witch that had graced his bed all that week.

He had worn her out the third time they'd had sex. Since there was no telling when she would be able to visit his rooms next, he wanted to leave a lasting impression. Six was the nice round number of orgasms he'd given her that last go around, and also coincided with the amount of love bites he had left on her body. There was one on her right breast, one on her inner left thigh, and one on her ankle. The other three markings were in places she would be able to see only if she stood in between two full-length mirrors. His lips had sucked a rosy patch into the soft skin of her shoulder blade while he took her from behind; there was another mark on the back of her right thigh which had been placed while his callused fingertips sought out and lay siege to the small patch of sensitive, spongy tissues inside her body. Had he not been lying along the length of Hermione's trembling legs at the time, she surely would have kicked him in the stomach, or worse, with the way her limbs had kicked and flailed.

The last mark was at the nape of her neck, in a place that would have been visible to all, only he anticipated Hermione's bushy hair keeping it concealed. Even if she were to wear it in a plait, he left it so that it would still be unnoticeable. He knew it was there and could look at it if it took his fancy, and that was good enough.

Snape also remembered Hermione saying that she wanted him. It was likely that she only meant that she wanted him to put her out of her misery by finishing what he started, but the witch had both eyes open at the time and had been looking up right at him. For a split second, Snape was sure that he had seen more than just sexual hunger in those brown orbs, but then Hermione had closed her eyes and furrowed her brow, clinging onto him and clamoring with the need for release.

Apart from the sex, sharing a bath with Hermione had been strange yet enjoyable. Her little hands digging into his scarred flesh had been relaxing, although his libido had gotten the best of him, which ended with Hermione kneeling in the water and taking him into her mouth. However, that morning Snape had been reflecting upon the impromptu soapy massage she had given him, and the thought was enough to make him drowsy.

Soon as his eyes crashed shut, the sound of his Floo being activated had permeated the silence of his front room. It seemed that Dumbledore was going to inconvenience him, most likely for all of eternity. The elderly wizard was so tenacious in having his way at any given moment that Snape was sure he possessed the ability to ruin a wet dream.

Could Snape not even become lost in _his_ thoughts in _his_ private study without being interrupted?

The answer apparently had been no, which was how Snape found himself in the headmaster's office, being what he could only consider chastised. Again, Snape had no idea that Bellatrix had planned on taking it upon herself to attack the Weasley family. But if Dumbledore chose to not believe him, then hell if he was going to break his neck in the midst of trying to convince the wizard otherwise.

Life was short and stressful, and Snape had finally arrived to a point where he didn't give a damn about what others thought of him. He could have one Galleon and the wizarding world's trite yet no doubt blackened opinion of him, and if he took both to Rosmerta's pub he would only be able to purchase a couple of pints.

Fawkes then made a sudden appearance in the office, and landed right on top of Dumbledore's good arm. The wizard began speaking to his familiar in a hushed tone, which Snape took that to mean the end of their conversation.

* * *

**_tbc...a little drama? hmm_**


	25. Chapter 25

**_A/N: I'm sad that my typing is limited because I can't respond to reviews unless it's a short 'thank you' or smiley face. So for now I will have to heap lots of love and thank yous in my author's note. I stopped icing my hand long enough to finish this chapter. Ergh, so annoyed because when I'm having trouble typing is when I start getting more ideas. I (painfully) started a naughty virgin Snape fic for those who like that sort of thing, and I came up with a funny Lucissa drabble. The Muses are laughing at me. Again, thank you for the reviews and favs, please keep'em coming :D I will love you for always, and please enjoy this while I go to take a nap!_**

* * *

"Ron! Harry!" were the first words that flew out of Hermione's mouth the moment the two wizards stepped into the Gryffindor common room. Ron, Harry, and Ginny had just climbed through the portrait hole when they were ambushed by the bushy-haired witch that nearly choked each of them when she threw her arms around their necks. "Are you alright? McGonagall told me what happened."

Hermione was now hugging Ron, who began sinking to the ground, gagging and pretending that he was being strangled.

"Yes, Hermione, we're fine," said Ron, spitting her curls out of his face. "But I won't be if you don't loosen the grip!"

Hermione rolled her eyes but she did lower her arms and step back. She had been antsy for the better part of an hour and was sitting in the common room, attempting to read with Crookshanks in her lap. The feline was now making his way to Ginny, bottlebrush tail swishing around as he rubbed up against her legs.

"We're fine, Hermione," Ginny told her, bending down to scoop Crookshanks up into her arms and sitting down on the sofa. "Mum is a bit...well, you know mum. But we're okay."

"You know me; I can't help but worrying," Hermione admitted.

"Is that right?" Harry shot back mockingly, although we wore a small smile.

"Be quiet," Hermione retorted. "Have you seen Dumbledore yet? Maybe he can—"

"No," Harry interrupted, sitting down next to Ginny and reaching out to stroke the top of Crookshanks' head. "I haven't seen Dumbledore since, well since before Slughorn's party. I don't know where he is."

Hermione frowned as she reflected upon her conversation with McGonagall that morning. She remembered the professor mentioning the headmaster, but she hadn't actually said where he was.

"This is madness," Hermione muttered under her breath. She knew that Dumbledore was physically unable to be at ten different places at one time, but at the very least she thought he ought to show face in light of the attack at the Burrow. Then again, it was everyone else that had to see Dumbledore when it was convenient for him, never the other way around.

Harry and Ginny now looked as if they were engrossed in their own private conversation, and Hermione wondered if Ron had been intruding on their alone time for the entire break.

"Come on," she suddenly told Ron, who had settled into an armchair across from his sister and best friend, and was distrustfully looking over at Crookshanks.

"What?" he asked dumbly, tearing his eyes away from the cat to look up at Hermione.

"You heard me," she ordered, "get up."

"Blimey, Hermione, we've only just got in, I need a rest!"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Ronald. You stepped through a Floo network, how strenuous was that?"

"Highly," he replied, stretching both long arms above his head and yawning as if to emphasise his point. When he kept his behind firmly rooted into the chair, Hermione walked over to him and pulled on his ear until he stood up.

"All right!" he yelped, standing up and looking down at the glowering witch."That hurt!"

"Well if you got up like I told you to in the first place, I wouldn't have grabbed your ear," Hermione replied dismissively. "Now come on," she continued, wrapping her fingers around Ron's forearm and tugging him in the direction of the door. They left behind a guffawing Ginny and Harry, who had been fighting back a laugh at the sight of Ron being Hermione-handled.

"So how are you, really?" Hermione asked once they were outside. The two had walked to a mildly sunny spot in the corridor and Ron plopped right down on the floor, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

"Alright, I suppose," he answered glumly, shrugging his shoulders. "I dunno."

Hermione sat down next to Ron and crossed her legs. "You don't have to downplay anything for me," she told him. "You must have been terrified."

Ron gave another shrug, and shifted slightly to the side to pull his wand out his pocket. "At the time I wasn't, but there really wasn't time to think about anything, other than getting away from Bellatrix," he said. "Mum was frantic; our shed was nearly burnt down but Bill and Charlie were able to put the fire out."

"Oh no," Hermione moaned, shaking her head. "I'm glad it wasn't your house."

"Thank goodness for that," Ron grumbled, flicking his wand and causing sparks to shoot out the tip. "We're already poor; no telling where we'd live if the Burrow got burnt down."

Hermione bowed her head as she felt tears well up in her eyes at the thought of her friend losing his home and all his belongings, what little bit he did have. But she knew Ron would get all flustered and call her a girl if she started crying, so she sniffed to keep her nose from running and surreptitiously dried her eyes.

"Harry and I wouldn't let you sleep on the streets," she told him. "We're best friends, practically family."

"I know," Ron admitted, sounding uncharacteristically subdued. "I'm glad you were here, at least; safe and all. And don't you start blubbering!" he added after casting a sidelong glance at Hermione and noticing her wobbly chin.

It was true that Ron often displayed the tact of a four-year-old child and had as much insight as Trelawney did on her off days, which were more often than not. But one thing Hermione could never say was that Ron was a bad friend.

After the battle with the Death Eaters at the Ministry, it had been Ron, who in a rare moment, comforted Hermione. Everyone had been focused on a grief-stricken Harry, who was inconsolable at having lost his godfather. Ron and Hermione felt badly for him, that was never a contested issue, but Harry hadn't been the only one who was feeling a loss.

Hermione had let Harry know she was there for him, although each of her efforts had been ignored. She didn't take it personally; she understood that Harry didn't want to talk about Sirius, or most likely anything at that point. So she left him alone.

Outside of their initial return to Hogwarts, no one asked about Hermione's welfare, as she had put on a chipper face while being confined to the hospital wing. But one day Ron had come to visit her on his own, and had been surprised to find his best friend with her knees tucked up, a book balanced on top, and her head nearly buried in the pages.

Hermione had felt fine that morning; she had taken to reading, purely to distract herself, and suddenly something inside her snapped. Tears kept running down her face, and she didn't know why, nor was she able to stop them. Seconds later, Ron had unexpectedly showed up, bounding over to her bed in the corner and clutching onto a handful of chocolate biscuits while rapidly chewing on a few, as he only ever ate biscuits two or three at a time.

He immediately stopped short and his jaw went still when he caught sight of his tearful best friend. Through the mouthful of biscuits he had asked Hermione what was wrong, although it came out sounding as 'Whzz wong?' and she laughed in spite of herself. The laughter made her cry harder, and Hermione had been surprised when Ron placed his stack of biscuits down on the bedside table and cautiously sat next to her. Awkwardness had still hung between them as he carefully slung one arm around Hermione's shoulder and allowed her to weep onto his jumper, an old one with his initial in the middle that had been knitted by Mrs Weasley. Hermione knew it was Ron's favourite, although he would never admit it.

In between sobs, Hermione managed to get out something about being scared, being bored and stuck in the hospital wing, the permanent scar on her chest, how her parents would most likely not allow her to return to Hogwarts, and a few other things that even she didn't understand. Ron, in his Ron-like way, had assured Hermione that her parents would let her return to school, and that scars were no big deal, that his brother Charlie had loads of scars that came from taming dragons, and that all of the witches still fancied him.

Ron told her all of this while still chewing on a bit of remaining biscuit and had crumbs stuck to the left corner of his lip. When he'd finished speaking, he had smiled so brilliantly at Hermione that she couldn't help but to laugh, amused highly by the dangling crumb that looked as if it was trying to run away, especially after he handed her a tissue, followed by two of his biscuits.

Therefore, while Ron was still a pain in her arse, and would most likely remain so for the rest of their lives, Hermione secretly admitted to herself that she had a bit of a soft spot when it came to the tall, gangly ginger wizard. Although she only loved him as a best friend; there was no way in heaven, hell, or anything in between that could make her want to get involved with Ronald Weasley in a romantic manner. He drove her crazy enough as it is, she had no wish to allow him to do so on another level.

Even though Ron kept telling Hermione that he was fine, she knew better. He was worried just like her, but Ron tended to keep a straight face for as long as possible. Well, at the moment he was frowning, but Hermione was sure he was unaware.

Sliding her arm through his she said, "It's a good thing Lavender isn't here, she would accuse me of trying to steal her boyfriend."

"And you would tell her off, just like you did before," Ron laughed.

Hermione nudged Ron's foot with hers. "I did not tell her off. I merely expressed in a polite manner that you were my friend and that was it."

Ron turned his head to look at Hermione incredulously. "You're joking, right? You nearly took her head off!"

"Oh, stop exaggerating, Ronald. I did not."

"You did too!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Okay, Hermione, whatever you say."

At that comment, Hermione moved her arm from around Ron's and reached up to pull on his hair.

"Ow! Oi, alright! I'll shut up."

"Thank you," Hermione told him with mock sweetness, slipping her arm back around his. Ron now looked a bit sheepish and turned back to Hermione with a goofy grin on his face."What? What is it now? What did you, or didn't do?" she asked suspiciously.

"Err, you know that essay we had to do for Snape's class?" he began in a tone that totally reeked of wheedling.

"Yes?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Well..." Ron trailed off, his grin only getting wider. "I was wondering if you could help me finish it."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Let me guess, you had the foresight to know that the Burrow was going to be attacked, and it had you so worried that you were unable to finish your assignment, am I right?"

"Err, sure!" Ron readily agreed. "So will you help me? I don't have _much_ to finish."

"And just how much is 'much'?"

"I wrote my name...and the title."

_"Ron!"_

"What?"

Hermione exhaled noisily, and after extricating her arm from Ron's rose to her full height. "Well? Let's go, then. I haven't got all day."

"Thanks, Hermione. You're the best," Ron told her as he pushed himself up from the floor.

"Don't placate me," Hermione groused as she turned in the direction of the common room without looking back. "And you had better leave Harry and Ginny alone."

"Alright, alright," said Ron, running to catch up with her.

The Christmas holiday meant nothing to the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Snape had assigned a two-foot long essay on curses and counter curses. Just because Hermione was sleeping with her teacher, it hadn't meant that she was exempt from her assignments. That point was still moot; she hated leaving things for the last minute and had finished the essay the day it was given, as well as the required reading for her other classes.

Hermione wasted no time in directing Ron to get his rucksack once they were back in the common room. Harry and Ginny was were still cuddled together on the soda, sans Crookshanks, as the cat had sauntered over to Hermione soon as she walked in. The two were getting a kick out of Hermione stroking her familiar while standing at the steps to the boys' dormitory, her voice echoing off the narrow stonewalled space as she fussed at him.

"You're over there laughing, Harry, but I hoped you finished your essay, too," said Hermione, looking over at him.

"Yeah, I finished mine," Harry called back. "I don't fancy the idea of you thumping me over the head with your book."

"So why didn't you help Ron?" Hermione shot back, fuming on the inside. "You could have made sure his work was done!"

"Dad helped Harry with his essay," Ginny told her. "Ron was too busy mucking about with Fred and George, and you know those two weren't going to tell him to leave off Quidditch so he can do his homework."

"Harry actually turned down a game of Quidditch?" Hermione asked her in disbelief, her eyebrows raised far up on her forehead as she turned to Harry. "Did it hurt?"

"Very funny," Harry retorted. "I only did it because Ginny threatened to owl you if I skivved off schoolwork to play. Said that you had better things to do than helping me and Ron finish our work the day before the new term."

"Thank you, Ginny," Hermione told her. "So I only have Ron to help now, but what's new." She then set down Crookshanks and walked halfway up the steps before shouting, "_Ron-ald!_ Hurry up! I haven't got all day, you know."

"Oi! Keep your hair on!" Ron fussed from the top landing. His heavy footsteps were nearly loud as a herd of hippogriffs when he thumped his way back down to the common room with his rucksack slung over one shoulder.

Hermione threw Ron such a sharp glance that he immediately took a seat at one of the small tables pushed against the wall and began taking out his books.

After issuing a few threats, smacking Ron in the back of the head twice, and threatening to make him do his work on his own once, Hermione finally assisted to the point that he was able to finish the essay on his own. She was seated across from him with her head propped up by one hand, soothed by the sound of his quill scratching against the parchment. Technically, it was her quill she had loaned him; Ron somehow managed to use one of the trick quills from Fred and George's joke shop, and at first all of his writing had been misspelt. Hermione thought Ron had purposely been misspelling everything at first, which was how he ended up gaining the second smack to the back of his head. She only offered a dismissive 'sorry' after snatching the quill out of Ron's hand, and replacing it with one of hers.

Now Ron was hunched over his parchment with an half-eaten cream cake at his elbow (Hermione told him to finish his snack later, because if he got even the faintest trace of buttercream on the parchment, Snape would surely send his essay up in flames, take points from Gryffindor, and make him write a new one). After pulling the cream cake away from Ron when she noticed him trying to sneak another bite, Hermione leaned her head against the wall and lapsed into thoughtful silence.

Reflecting back to first learning about the attack at the Burrow, Hermione wondered what she was doing at the time when it happened.

_How can you forget that fast? You were wrapped around Severus, either worn out or in the process of being worn out._

Unaware that she had begun to frown, Hermione mused upon the fact that since Christmas eve, Snape hadn't slid off to one of his...meetings. At least, if he had then she didn't know about it. He definitely hadn't been battered and bruised as he often returned from his visits with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Her stomach clenched uncomfortably when she suddenly wondered if he knew that the Weasleys were going to be attacked. Irritating though it was, Hermione was sure the question fell beneath the category of things she was not supposed to ask.

At this point, she knew it wouldn't matter if Snape had known that the attack going to take place; the issue was moot, as it already happened and couldn't be taken back. Still, for some unknown reason, she had to know if he knew, and Hermione vowed to ask him the first chance she got.

* * *

The whole business of asking Snape if he knew anything about the Death Eater's attack proved more difficult than Hermione anticipated. Of course, she didn't expect it to be easy. The day something came easy for Hermione would be the day that she would set fire to her beloved collection of books. And that would _never_ happen.

But for the love of all that was holy, she could barely get the professor to so much as look in her direction! Hogwarts was now teeming with students returned from break, as well as professors, Heads of Houses, and prefects trying to sort everyone out. Great Hall being packed to the rafters or not, it still would have looked completely out of place for Hermione to saunter up to the staff dais to speak to Snape. Not only would she risk being told off, but Ron and Harry, and no doubt the rest of the student body, would believe that her brain had been pried out of her head and replaced with a pile of sawdust if she went through with the daring feat. The only students that openly spoke to the professor were those of his own House, and Hermione refused to be the one to break precedence.

No, she would just have to wait it out and find another way to speak to Snape.

Snape, on the other hand, was still put out from his earlier conversation with Dumbledore, although he looked completely unruffled. His black eyes had scanned the room after food appeared on all the tables, and he surreptitiously took in the sight of a pensive looking Hermione as she picked over her plate of roast beef and mash. No doubt she was also drowning out the noise surrounding her; in spite of the fact that Potter and Weasley, along with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, were practically knee-deep in their dinner and sitting close to one another, they still managed to shout across the table at one another in tones usually reserved for Quidditch matches. They weren't the only ones, many of the students were chattering excitedly, still amped up and happy to see their schoolmates, even though they had only been parted for a week.

Snape had just the thing to wipe the happy smiles off their smug little faces. No doubt a surprise quiz would deflate their high-flying balloons of cheerfulness, and he could not wait to hear the collective repressed groans. Outright groans that so much as threatened to bounce off the walls in his dark classroom were a sign of insolence—which he didn't tolerate—and would result in points taken and detention. Perhaps only the first if he was in a good mood.

Students typically forgot that they were still supposed to study, even during their times away from Hogwarts. In reality, he knew that rucksacks and textbooks were thrown to the floor once children returned home, either relegated to a corner or beneath a bed, keeping company with dust bunnies. At the end of the week, no doubt a frantic search would ensue with the beginning of the new year just around the corner.

Snape always assigned homework over the holidays. He didn't give a damn what other professors did in their classes, but he refused to attempt to understand the concept of a break. As far as he was concerned, there were no breaks when it came to being attacked. Dark wizards weren't known for offering their victims a chance to peruse a textbook to come up with a suitable defensive spell. Flitwick had once mentioned to Snape that he should take it easy on his students and let them enjoy their holidays, which were meant for spending time with their families. Snape had shot the tiny professor a glare so fierce that Flitwick flushed slightly, yet said nothing. The only other professor that never questioned his teaching methods was McGonagall, reason being her standards were as nearly stringent as his.

Tomorrow was Monday, and gods give him the fortitude to read through the tripe that would undoubtedly come across his desk. Snape briefly hoped that his eyes wouldn't bleed from the half-arsed essays that were sure to be handed in. Of course, one bookish Gryffindor with enough hair on her head for two other people would hand in a perfect essay, although it would most likely be double the length of what he initially assigned.

Damn. He would definitely need cotton.

Briefly glancing over once more at said bookish Gryffindor, Snape saw that her hair was pulled back in a loose single braid, as if she had done it while focusing on something else. He thought about the small red, almost purple mark he had left at the back of her neck, and knew that if he were to lift the plait he would see it, partially hidden by a few wispy curls at her nape that somehow always felt softer than the rest of her hair.

Snarling under his breath, Snape told himself that now was not the time to be thinking about Hermione's neck, or the way she moaned breathlessly each time his lips and teeth captured the sensitive skin there.

Moving on until he was looking at the table on the far right side of the Great Hall, Snape saw that Draco looked a little less glum compared to right before the Christmas break. The boy's father was still in Azkaban, and Snape figured that Narcissa must have gone through great measures for the holiday, as her son no longer looked like a dead man walking. Perhaps mother and child spent the holiday without the presence of Bellatrix and her ratty hair, a cause in itself which was definite reason for celebration.

Bellatrix had a way of pissing off even the most peaceful and patient of persons. Snape reasoned that all she needed was two minutes, and she would even find a way to make a Hare Krishna follower lose their cool and swear like a sailor on leave. Snape had been putting up with the witch ever since he had the misfortune of making her acquaintance, and he lost count of the times that he wished to hex her so badly until nothing but a pile of ash remained. So he knew and understood well what Draco was going through.

Dessert was now on the table, and Draco was spooning custard into his mouth while Pansy sat across from him, looking utterly ridiculous as she bat her eyes at the blond. Snape had come across whores in Knockturn Alley that were more subtle, and he almost laughed at the idea of telling the young Slytherin that she could learn a thing or two from those dodgy witches.

Snape had a vague idea of why Draco had been made prefect. Perhaps Dumbledore deemed the position a way to somewhat keep the boy in the limelight, which might supposedly force him to stay out of trouble. Or merely it could have been due to the standing of the Malfoy name. Either way, Draco was doing a poor job. Scratch that, to say he did a poor job would be to say that he had been actually doing it in the first place. The only time Draco remembered that he was a prefect was right before he began taunting some unsuspecting younger student. Surprisingly enough, as of late Draco had been attempting to keep a low profile, an act that was suspicious to those observant enough to notice.

On the other hand, the headmaster's reasoning for also making Parkinson a prefect seemed highly convoluted. Perhaps Dumbledore thought Pansy was lesser of a menace compared to the younger Malfoy. At least the other four prefects from Slytherin house balanced out the nonsense.

Well, they balanced out the nonsense most of the time. Snape now looked at the other two usually upstanding male prefects for Slytherin, one of them Head Boy, and curled his lip in distaste when he noticed them pelting one another with cherries that had probably been taken from the top of one of the cakes on the table.

_Gods save me from idiots._

* * *

Classes swung right back into session as normal. A signup sheet for Apparation lessons had been posted, and it was all Ron, as well as the rest of the of age students seemed to be able to focus on.

Hermione, like always, could be found in the library during most of her free time. In addition to studying for her NEWTs, as well as a few books she found on Apparation (she had been thoroughly horrified by the prospect of Spinching and wanted to avoid it at all costs), now she had been systematically prowling each bookshelf for another sort of information that could only be construed as baffling.

Dumbledore had finally shown face and called Harry to his office. Hermione had been thoroughly nonplussed when Harry mentioned something called a Horcrux, but she was sure that the library would have at least a few books on the subject.

Annoyed was an understatement to explain how she felt after each extensive search through the stacks proved fruitless. Hermione had almost been tempted to ask Harry in a nasty tone that perhaps his illicit Potions textbook could tell him what a Horcrux was, since it was his newfound Holy Grail, but she resisted.

Whatever it was that Dumbledore needed to know, Hermione thought that he was going about it in a roundabout way. He explained that he needed Harry to obtain a memory from Slughorn, as the true memory the headmaster suspected had been tampered with. She understood that Dumbledore knew a lot more than he let onto, but he wasn't omniscient. That was fine and all, but she wondered why the hell Dumbledore couldn't tell Harry just what a Horcrux was in the first place without all the secrecy. And now he expected Harry to somehow obtain a memory from their newly appointed Potions professor by playing upon his weaknesses.

She wanted to tell Harry good luck. Slughorn was definitely not Snape. He might have smiled at his students (a fake smile when it was one of his less favoured students) and clapped them on the back with a beefy paw in that phony way, all the while guffawing and speaking in a pompous tone. But at the end of the day he was still as self-serving as many of the witches and wizards in his House, and he definitely would not offer something freely if there was no benefit weighing in his favour. Quid pro quo was a way of life with his sort; that much had been obvious from day one.

All of the fanfare was giving Hermione a headache. There was one other wizard who undoubtedly possessed skills and a wealth of knowledge that nearly rivaled Dumbledore's, but Hermione knew there was no way she could ask Snape if he knew what a Horcrux was. The circumstances would lead to an uncomfortable round of questions, and besides, she couldn't violate Harry's trust. Of course, there was always that bookshelf behind Snape's desk in his private chambers, surely one of them could tell her something...

Damn! How was she supposed to gain access to them? Snape hadn't looked in her direction all week since classes resumed. She still wanted to ask him about the attack at the Weasleys. That question seemed harmless compared to the one about Horcruxes, but she still didn't know if she would get an answer.

The following Thursday, it seemed that the Fates were smiling in Hermione's direction as she was granted her wish. Unfortunately for her, later on she would say the Fates were having a laugh at her expense.

The day passed by uneventfully; breakfast, class, library, lunch, class, a free period, all of which she used to do homework and study, followed by a bit more reading before time for patrols.

Hermione had to practically drag Ron out of the common room for patrols. The redhead only acquiesced once she gave into allowing him to run down the kitchens for a late snack right before it was time to return to the dormitory.

Patrols had been easy enough; either everyone was still getting into the swing of things and were too tired to roam the corridors or sneak into spots for a quick snog, for there was no one for her to give the 'mean Hermione-eye' to as Ron called it.

The two paused in the Entrance Hall and Hermione told Ron that he had ten minutes to grab whatever it was he needed to stuff his face.

"Thanks, Hermione! Be back in twenty!" he shouted before running off in the direction of the kitchens.

"Why do I even bother?" Hermione asked herself, pulling her school robes around her and walking down to the corridor with opened arches. She found herself in the same spot where Snape almost kissed her, right before Filch interrupted them by his swearing when Peeves threw food around.

During the day, and especially while in Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Hermione did her best to keep from getting distracted. The task proved easier than she thought it might be, considering the way Snape continued to cut down his students in class, not to mention taking points from Gryffindor.

But right now she wasn't in class nor beneath the stony glare of Professor Snape, and Hermione was free to allow her mind to wander to the last night they spent in his room. Her body had been well-sated afterwards, and despite all of the bother going on with her and her friends, Hermione remained calmer than she usually was. That calm _was_ beginning to wear off, but there were other things that needed tending to. Things such as those effing Horcruxes.

Still, it didn't hurt to think back to the way she felt with Snape's thin arms wrapped around her naked waist. His body temperature was usually cooler than what was normal, despite the heavy woolen layers that consisted of his black suit and robes. Yet once they were both naked and pressed against one another beneath the duvet, Snape's skin felt almost searing on hers.

A cool breeze blew through the window just as Hermione began thinking about his long fingers stroking her breasts while she lie in the curve of his arm. Shivering involuntarily as her nipples hardened, which Hermione suspected had more to do with the memory than the wind, she nearly jumped when she heard a deep voice right behind her.

"A new year is upon us, and already you are clamoring for detention. Isn't that right, Miss Granger?"

"Would you really give me detention for doing something I'm supposed to be doing?" asked Hermione as she fought back a smile. "Actually you would; you have."

Snape had been standing behind Hermione longer than she realised. He wondered if his mark was still visible on the back of her neck, and had been tempted to reach out and push her curls to one side to check.

To an outsider, all they would have seen was Snape looming over Hermione, the same way he did to his students when he was trying to intimidate them. Like always he was in black from head to toe, except for the sliver of white shirt peeking out above his cravat. That unyieldingly rigid posture was present, and Snape stood next to Hermione with both arms folded across his chest.

Anyone else would have been scared, but Hermione wasn't shrinking back. Truth be told, she wanted to turn around to face Snape, step in closer and wrap her fingers around the edges of his robes to pull him down for a kiss. Even though they were in close proximity, reality wouldn't allow her to so much as gaze upon him for a length of time, for fear that the look of familiarity in her eyes would give something away.

"I'm not wandering about alone," Hermione offered, breaking the silence. "Ron's doing patrols with me, but he made a stop in the kitchens."

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. I should go down and give him detention," Snape mused as he stared out into the night sky beyond the high stone arches. "but I don't feel like being accosted by Potter's disgustingly cheerful elf."

Hermione sniggered at that; Dobby was harmless, well, _now _that he wasn't trying to save Harry, but he was a bit overzealous.

"Dobby's all right," she said in a soft voice.

Snape fought the urge to snort; the little witch thought everyone was all right. He still was trying to comprehend what it was about him she found savoury enough that it kept her around. Now he wondered if the girl was trying to torture him. Hermione began playing with her hair, sweeping the entire mass to one side and nearly exposing the back of her neck, but suddenly she let it fall back into place.

_You need help, old man._

"Professor, may I ask you a question?" she suddenly asked, turning around to face him.

For a brief moment, Hermione fell silent as she became distracted by the sight of him towering over her. Snape's lank black hair was in his face, but more often than not, it was always in his face. Resisting the urge to reach up and push the errant strands back so she could see him more clearly, Hermione was still so unfocused that she almost didn't hear his reply.

"You just did," he told her without missing a beat.

"What? Oh, haha, very funny, Professor," Hermione said. "No, I wanted to ask you about, well... I guess you know that the Weasleys were attacked over the break. I just..." she trailed off, noticing that Snape's posture had grown even more rigid, if it was possible. "I just wanted to ask if you'd heard anything about it beforehand."

Snape's face had been dismissive before but now his lip was curled and he was baring his teeth. Hermione's knees quaked when she saw the professor, _snarling_ was the best description, and she regretted opening her mouth.

"Pray tell why I would know of such a thing, _Miss Granger?_"

The emphasis on her name, the very name he used when they were in class and no less in a tone utilised only when she annoyed him, wasn't lost on Hermione.

"Sir?" she asked nervously.

Snape was still bristling from Dumbledore's earlier line of questioning turned accusations; Hermione asking him the same thing only made him more defensive.

"Is that what you think?" he asked her in a dangerously low voice.

"What? No, Professor, I just—" Hermione stammered, but she was instantly cut off.

Snape's hackles were clearly raised and it looked as if he was ready to launch into a full tirade, yet he continued speaking in tightly constrained voice.

"I know when things happen that it's only natural for everyone to point the finger in my direction," Snape spat, sounding as if he was about to fly off the handle, "but let me ask you this: Do you make it a habit to become intimately acquainted with wizards that you don't trust?"

Hermione's face twisted up with a mixture of outrage and mortification.

"How dare you!" she hissed beneath her breath, trying to keep her voice from carrying throughout the long corridor. "I only asked because I thought you might know, keyword _might!_ It's not as if I—"

"Save it, Granger. I know how your perspicacious little mind works, there is a reason behind everything you do, so don't try to downplay it by feeding me some tripe. You know that I know better."

Snape's nostrils were flaring and he was glaring at Hermione. Even though he was standing completely still, it was hard to miss the hostility rolling off him in waves. Not to be outmatched, Hermione was glowering right back at him.

"You're mad!" she told Snape in a fierce whisper. "You are positively mad!"

At that point, she nearly forgot about her initial question, as she was thoroughly incensed for him taking a personal jab at her.

Snape gave a wry laugh. "I assure you, I have been called much worse. You'll have to do better than that, Miss Granger," he said in a voice thick with sarcasm.

Hermione's mouth fell open in shock. Was Snape actually baiting her? But that comment about her and other wizards...

"Just so you know, _you_ are the only wizard responsible for me being unable to touch unicorns!"

Snape took a step forward, moving in close enough that Hermione had no choice but to retreat until her back was against the wall. Snape then leaned in until their noses were nearly touching, and Hermione shivered when his warm breath grazed her cheek. Although they were both cloaked in darkness, she was still able to see clearly the icy glint in his eyes.

"Perhaps you'll have better luck next time," he whispered menacingly to the vicinity of her right ear before storming away in a billow of black robes.

Hermione was trembling and remained slumped against the wall long after Snape had gone. She felt hurt and angry and wished that he had tripped on his stupid robes as he stalked off in the other direction. Maybe he would have hit his head hard enough on the ground that it would make him come back to his senses. What the hell was his problem? She asked one little question and he reared up like a cat being doused in water, proceeding to make a mountain out of a molehill, and Hermione truly had no idea why.

Walking on wobbly legs to the Entrance Hall, Hermione finally saw Ron sauntering over in her direction.

"Ronald!" she bellowed, ready to take her anger out on him. "What took you so long? And what is that on your robes?"

Ron had been walking without looking ahead of him, focused on the stack of cream cakes in his hand. There were splatters of white on his school robes, some half covering his prefect badge so that it read 'P-ect'.

"I got ambushed by a group of Slytherin girls," he explained grouchily, now looking curiously at a frowning Hermione as he swallowed a large mouthful. "They were in the corridors and looked like they were up to something, so I told them to go back to their common rooms, only their leader ran up to me and snatched one of my cakes and smashed it against my robes. I would have taken points only that git Snape came round the bend and yelled at everyone. I'm just glad he didn't give me detention."

"Ugh," Hermione groaned, knowing just why Snape was in a bad mood. "But those girls are fourth-years, right? Do you mean to tell me you got bested by a bunch of fourth-years?"

"Oh, come off it, Hermione! You know those girls are bad news, especially that one, Andrea. She's the one that ruined my cakes, and those other three just stood there, laughing and falling over one another. Those girls are mental."

Hermione only knew their names because she had to tell off the little quartet of hellions a few times before; Leslie, Jennifer, and Nancy listened to anything Andrea said, and together they caused almost more mischief than Peeves. The poltergeist wouldn't even bother them, as he found their antics to be funny.

"Well, good for you," Hermione tartly told Ron. "We were supposed to be patrolling, not skulking off for sweets. Now come on, I'm ready for bed."

Ron knew better than to say anything and dutifully followed behind, eating his cakes while wondering what bug bit Hermione's bum.

* * *

**_dum dum dummmmm! drama! you can actually go to dramabutton dot com to press this button for the real sound, if you like emphasis ;)_**


	26. Chapter 26

**_A/N: So I've learned what's worse than writer's block: reading a fabulous story, getting completely consumed by it, and then harping over it for three days because you keep comparing yourself to other fabulous authors and you think your own writing is crap. I kid you not, it happens. But I think this happens to a lot of folks that do things such as music, writing, art...etc. And while we are all great and shouldn't compare ourselves to others because we need to shine in our own right, it happens. It's inevitable. However, I took that...feeling and ending up writing most of this chapter in an hour, which was over 4k. Maybe I need to get sad more often, as I can channel it into something else. _**

**_Hope this doesn't sound like a plea for folks to begin telling me that I'm great or something (ah shit hope that doesn't sound pretentious) because I will deny all claims. I read everyone's stuff, the big names, the new names, I think everyone is fabulous. _**

**_Okay enough of my drama, but at least I have Crmediagal and MrsHH to carp and whine to. I love you! (Oh yeah, go read their fics, I keep rereading Unquestionable Love: The Prequel by Crmediagal...I think I'm going to freak her out one day when I start reciting chapters verbatim, but seriously, it's my favorite fic. And The Headmaster's Wife by MrsHH... no words. I think I've laughed, cried, and got horny over that fic._**

**_In other news, I was able to wash and comb my hair for the first time in...over a month? Yeah, any lovely new readers jumping right to this chapter are like, I don't give a shit, why are you telling us this? Long story short, broke my wrist, on the mend, had to beg friends and family to do things for me. _**

**_Insanely long authors note, damn. Thankkkkk you for the reviews! Remember to hit the follow button to keep up with updates! My wrist actually cooperated and I replied to EVERY LAST ONE from my last update. And I will continue to do so because I appreciate you all. Your reviews chase away those ugly clouds of self doubt, and they fuel the Muse. So now today is V-day, or 'I'm going to kill (insert person) because they didn't buy me (insert item). It's just another day for me to gorge myself on chocolate, but if anyone is sad that they don't have anyone to talk dirty to them today, or just whisper sweet nothings, I will be more than happy to drop you a note, doing either or, or both, if you prefer ;)_**

* * *

Hermione didn't speak on the entire walk back to Gryffindor tower. She noticed that Ron kept giving her sidelong glances as he stuffed his face, but he was smart enough to know that when Hermione didn't want to be bothered, it was best to leave her alone.

The few remaining students in the common room were just on their way to bed when Ron and Hermione stepped through the portrait hole. Offering a bruque 'goodnight' to Ron, Hermione stomped her way up to the girls' dormitory.

Everyone was either changed for bed or in the middle of doing so. Roughly changing out of her jumper and jeans, Hermione used to the same roughness to pull her nightgown on, before practically ripping the sheets back from her mattress, climbing in bed, and tugging them up to her head. She almost forgot to pull the bed curtains shut but couldn't be bothered to manually do so, and used her wand instead.

_To hell with Snape! _Hermione thought bitterly, brushing away angry tears that she just noticed were falling down her face.

She knew the man had a temper, and it was glaringly obvious that he had deep-seated issues, but Hermione truly did not know what she had done to warrant his wrath, and felt completely undeserving of it. And that snide little comment, _'Perhaps you'll have better luck next time'; _what the hell was that supposed to me? Did he expect for her to up and forget about everything that had transpired between them and move onto the next wizard, just like that?

It was at that point that Hermione realised she felt more for Snape that she had been willing to admit to. Maybe it was because on some level the man was somewhat detached from everyone else that he tended to walk around with a chip on his shoulder. But whenever they were alone, Snape was a little less guarded; he was less Professor Snape and more Severus, and decidedly more human.

When Hermione first laid eyes on Severus Snape, she immediately recongised him a teacher that demanded nothing but the best from his pupils. She sought to gain his acceptance and glean any and everything possible from his classes. Of course, he hadn't made her task an easy one, not with the way he became short with her on a consistent basis.

But as Hermione got older and began understanding human nature and interpersonal relationships, it became apparent to her that Snape wasn't like everyone else. She didn't think he was the sort that had an upbringing similar to hers. Then again, what did she know? It wasn't as if he ever told her anything about his past. They spent months together in Grimmauld Place, and finally a somewhat uninterrupted week at Hogwarts, and still what Hermione knew personally about Snape could fill a thimble.

That idea, combined with the startling notion that she had been sleeping with a man who was essentially a stranger, made Hermione numb with confliction emotions.

Snape hadn't made her feel like a stranger whenever they spent time together; in actuality, Hermione felt as if she was seeing a side of him that was rarely shown to others. It almost seemed as if he cared about her, although he never came outright and said so (not that she expected him to). But for him to throw the fact that she had given herself to him in her face was embarrassing and hurtful, not to mention that she now felt dirty.

_Perhaps you'll have better luck next time._

Those seven words kept circling round in Hermione's head. She wanted to scream that there would be no next time; she couldn't get her virginity back. She couldn't take back the kisses and caresses or the comfortably silent moments shared in the dark of his room. She gave herself to Severus purely because she wanted to, and now Hermione wondered if it had been a mistake.

Remembering when Snape had asked her early on how did she know that he wouldn't take what he wanted and cast her aside afterwards, Hermione told herself that he might as well have, because maybe then she wouldn't feel as bad. No, she would have still felt badly, but at least she could chalk up the entire experience to youthful foolishness on her part, and on Snape's, that he really was the selfish, bitter bastard that everyone else made him out to be.

But deep down inside, Hermione knew that Snape wasn't selfish, nor was he inherently bad.

Something else suddenly flitted across her mind; Hermione thought about a next door neighbour her mum had growing up. The neighbour's name was Mr. Henry, although all of the local kids, as well as some adults, called him 'Mean Man Henry'.

Mr. Henry had been the sort to chase children and puppies away from his grass, curse out the postman for smiling at him, and berate anyone that carried threats of bringing some sort of pleasantry in his direction. As a result, everyone either gave the dour elderly man wide berth when they came across him, else they generally avoided him.

One day Mrs. Granger's mum sent her round to bring a parcel that had been accidentally delivered to their house. Hermione laughed when her mum told her how she'd whined and begged to not be sent to old Mr. Henry's house, but she wasn't having it.

Hermione's mum finally went next door, and as expected the man cut her down with his watery eyes, but he allowed her to bring the parcel in and set it on a side table. Laughing into her pillow as Hermione remembered her mum telling her that she and Mr. Henry then stood for a solid minute in his vestibule, glaring at one another without saying a word. The elderly man finally broke the tension by digging into his pocket and pulling out a wallet, which her mum described as 'chewed up, beaten up, and in dire need of being thrown into the nearest rubbish bin'.

Mr. Henry had then pulled a tenner out of his pocket and handed it to the girl, with firm directions to buy the kitten she had been hiding from her parents some proper tins of cat food, and give it a decent meal instead of the scraps that she had taken to smuggling out.

The then eight-year-old Mrs. Granger had found and adopted a straggly kitten which she named Zoe. Her dad was allergic to cats and her mum disliked them, and they forbade their daughter to bring it into the house. Zoe, however, was smart enough to return to their garden each day where she would be greeted by the young girl, who would give her affectionate caresses and a plate of whatever bits of food had been scrounged up and snuck out.

The young Mrs. Granger hadn't know that Mr. Henry even noticed her playing with the small white kitten, and her mouth fell open when he handed her the money.

After that, she began to see the usually surly man in a different light. He still growled and sniped; that hadn't been likely to change, but every other week he would show face whenever his young neighbor could be seen in her front yard, and he slipped her a five quid or so to buy more cat food.

Zoe could be seen going between both residences after that. Whenever Mrs. Granger had gone on holiday with her parents, Mr. Henry grunted at her (a grunt usually preceded whenever he was about to say something nice) but offered to feed her pet while they were gone. He ended up keeping Zoe in his house, and the girl had been free to visit her pet whenever she liked. Months later, the kitten had been run over by passing lorry, and the drivers never stopped the vehicle. Mrs. Granger had grown quite attached to the feline and was completely beside herself, and thought nothing of picking up the kitten's limp, bloodied form and clutching it to her chest, not knowing what else to do.

Mr. Henry had limped out of the house on his cane to roughly wipe the crying girl's tears away, which only grew lustier when he sadly told her that her kitten couldn't be saved. After telling the young girl that her cat wasn't suffering anymore, he steered her into his back garden where he dug a small hole for her to bury Zoe in. The elderly man claimed that he had a dodgy hip and fussed that he couldn't dig any faster, but he had been very gentle when he removed Zoe from her arms, cleaning off the remaining blood with a towel before setting her in the ground.

Mrs. Granger never forgot the unconventional kindness of that man. Years after he passed, she found out why the man had always seemed so angry with the world. When she was still a girl, she remembered Mr. Henry opening a drawer to pull out an envelope, as he was giving her what he'd called 'cat maintenance'. There had been a pile of old rusty medals shoved carelessly to one side of the drawer, and when she attempted to look closely at them, Mr. Henry noticed her prying eyes and quickly shoved the drawer shut. Mrs. Granger thought that strange, but it wasn't until she was older that she strongly suspected the man to be a war veteran.

In her youth, she would have believed that he should be proud for fighting for his country. It wasn't until her rose-coloured glasses came off that she understood Mr. Henry had most likely been forced to do things he didn't want, many of which she didn't want to think about. She understood why he hid those medals.

She also found out that Mr. Henry had married his childhood sweetheart, only for her to run off with his so-called best friend. Mr. Henry had been left to raise their only child, a daughter, who had been killed by a drunk driver at the age of thirteen. There was no justice served as the driver nor the car had ever been found.

Mr. Henry had been a blue-collar worker but was a pinchfist in every sense of the word. He had a bit of money saved, but after falling sick with terminal illness, his only family, a brother-in-law, came around, supposedly to help him. Turns out the family member had been robbing him blind, and by the time Mr. Henry discovered the stolen funds, the brother-in-law had upped and left town. By some miracle, he managed to retrieve most of his stolen funds after the brother-in-law had been arrested.

The entire time, Mr. Henry had been battling cancer, which Mrs. Granger never knew. She had noticed that he often became tired, to which he would allow her to make their tea in his little kitchen. Her mum never allowed her in the kitchen, but Mr. Henry was eager to have a little bit of help and showed her how to do everything. She never minded and the elderly man would wave her on while he caught his breath in his favourite armchair. There had also been many days while she had been out playing with Zoe, that she overheard the older man muttering that he wished God would just take him, and if it weren't a sin that he would have taken matters into his own hands long time ago.

At the time she hadn't understood a word he said in the figurative sense. Concepts of depression and suicidal thoughts tended to be treated as something that only happened to a certain type of person, and were rarely spoken about in her home.

Mrs. Granger had been sixteen when Mr. Henry passed, and she was the only one in the neighbourhood that was upset about the man's death. She cried even harder when she found out that the man had let a stipulation in his will that left all of his money to her. Mr. Henry had donated his house to his church to do with what they saw fit, but had been adamant that all of his money as well as the profit from any estate sale should go to the young miss from next door.

Mrs. Granger often spoke of the elderly man to her daughter, stating that the money she received from him had helped pay her tuition for Uni as well as a few semesters at dental school, which had been where she met her husband. She joked that it was Mr. Henry's doing that caused her to meet her life partner.

Hermione's mum instilled in her that she should always try to look beneath the front that most people put on, explaining that it was typically the ones who were more bitter that usually had a sadder story to tell, only it was most likely untold. Mr. Henry's story had been untold, and unsurprisingly so, as there had been no one to listen. The only reason her mum found out about his life was because of a letter that had been left with his solicitor, some of its contents also explaining why he had left his belongings to Mrs. Granger, then Miss Smith. Mr. Henry explained that while she was a silly little girl, she somehow still had the ability to look beyond the forefront to see what truly lie beneath instead of being dismissive the way other people were.

In many ways, whenever Hermione thought about old Mr. Henry, she thought about the Potions master, now Defence teacher. Severus Snape didn't have a chip on his shoulder; he had a boulder. While he was snarky and surly and downright cruel at times, Hermione sometimes felt how she imagine her mother did when Mr. Henry found her sneaking out the house to feed her kitten.

Snape was the one that neatly pulled her out of the pink-painted clutches of Dolores Umbridge. Snape had been the one to get her and her friends out of hot water countless times before. Ron nor Harry ever told him thank you, and Hermione flushed when she realised she was guilty of never doing so as well.

Now that she had time to sit back and think about why Snape had gotten cross with her, things began clicking into place and Hermione felt like a fool.

How many times had she been the one to tell Harry and Ron that they were mad for suggesting that Snape was trying to kill them, or that he was the cause of any little thing that had gone wrong? One of the boys could have a nosebleed, and even if Snape was nowhere in the vicinity, they would try and find a way to cast blame in his direction.

No wonder the professor became so tetchy. It wasn't as if Hermione had been asking Snape if he took part in the attack upon the Weasleys; that would have been impossible as she had been lying beneath him when it occurred. She knew Snape was skilled, but didn't think he was good enough to sneak out of bed without her noticing, staying away for a few hours, and then sneaking back.

But surely he thought that she had been asking if he was involved in said attack. Going by his reaction, Snape knew just as much as she did, which equated to nothing. Then his comment about everyone always pointing the finger in his direction...did that mean that he overhead Ron and Harry's less than savoury comments when it involved the professor? Or perhaps he was catching heat from some other person.

_Persons, most likely,_ Hermione amended.

At least half the adults she came in contact with never had good things to say whenever it came to Professor Snape. Of course, they wouldn't come outright and say something rude, but Hermione knew enough to tell when a certain look or tone in someone's voice meant that they were holding back instead of saying how they truly felt.

Sirius Black let anyone who would listen know that loathed Snape, but Hermione suspected that had more to do with some adolescent falling out instead of the professor's character. And while she loved Harry, Hermione had to admit that he was just as bad as his godfather had been when it came to his Snape-bashing tirades.

Now Hermione was feeling guilty for being unable to keep her mouth shut, believing that she was no better than the other people that badmouthed the professor on a consistent basis.

Rolling over in bed, Hermione heaved a sigh, wondering the best to way to go about correcting her slip of tongue. Still, she continued berating herself until she fell asleep.

_Hermione Jean Granger, for someone that's supposedly intelligent, you really are an idiot._

* * *

While Hermione was fighting back tears by burying her face into a pillow, Snape had been pacing the length of his study the way a trapped, feral lion paced about in its cage.

He hadn't meant to take out his frustration on Hermione. He hadn't missed the hurt and anger in her brown eyes when he cornered her off before wishing her luck with another wizard, only to turn around and leave her.

At first, Snape thought Hermione had gotten under his skin, purely stemming out of a baser urge. And while she was still somewhat of an irritant at times, he slowly found out that he even found that bit about her endearing.

He knew Hermione didn't understand why he reacted the way he did to her question. He suspected that even she didn't realise how much she personally affected him. To tell her so meant that he would have to open himself in a way that he never had before. He hadn't even done that with..._her_. But one thing Snape learned in life was that if he became attached to anyone he would become hurt, be it directly or indirectly, or they would let him down. His life had been one succession of let-downs after the next, and eventually he arrived at a point where he numbed himself to the pain.

Everyone had their vices, but Snape refused to succumb to finding comfort in the bottom of a bottle. He remembered with perfect clarity the damage his alcoholic father instilled upon both wife and child, not to mention the many health problems that later arose in Tobias Snape's life. There were always drugs or potions available in the Muggle and wizarding world, but to use any of them would be suicidal. Snape needed a clear mind to carry on day in and out, and going around in a fog would do him a disservice.

Still, there had been many times he had been tempted to mix a bit of this and that in a flask, tossing it back and passing out wherever he happened to land in his rooms. He had all the necessary ingredients on hand, although he knew that the headmaster wouldn't be pleased to know that he was using said supplies for a much baser purpose. Snape was pretty sure there was some clause in the Hogwarts employee's handbook about not getting strung out while on school property. And no doubt the headmaster would have something to say about the teachers getting stoned whilst being _off_ school property, as the elderly wizard was as meddling as they came.

But intoxication, be it from brew or bud, was temporary, and once one came back to Earth, they still had to deal with whatever it was that tormented them.

There was always gambling, but Snape had never been a gambling man. How could he, having grown up in a house where having money for the next meal was never a sure thing? Being raised in a home where money, be it pounds or Galleons were scant, Snape always made his money last and was a miser in every sense of the word. Books were the only thing he cared about, and besides dipping into his purse for food, he hoarded every Knut, Sickle and Galleon that came his way.

Smoking supposedly calmed the nerves, and where he was from, cigarettes were nearly akin to drinking a glass of water. It seemed that nearly everyone in his neighbourhood forever had a fag precariously balanced in the corner of their lips. Growing up he hated the smell of cigarettes. Cigarettes went hand in hand with his father's drunken fits, and somewhere in between Tobias yelling at his wife and passing out on the front room sofa, he would always snatch his son up by the scruff of his neck, lowering his face to his and blowing smoke into the terrified face of a young Severus. Long after his father was dead, Snape associated the smell of cigarettes with Tobias, and physically grew ill at the scent.

Perhaps it was innate that he should smoke later on in life. To his surprise, Snape could vaguely pinpoint the time he picked up the habit as to somewhere not long after Lily's death. Dumbledore had made him take a brief hiatus, deeming him unable to teach due to his unsteady mental state. For an entire week, Snape confined himself to Spinner's End, walking around in a fog, barely focusing on even the most mundane of tasks, such as eating and breathing. Only when it felt as if a hole was rotting through his empty stomach did he go out to purchase items to stock a paltry larder.

Snape had been standing in front of a shop for one reason or another, when a man stood less than a foot away from him. He vaguely remembered being annoyed as the older man clearly knew nothing about personal space, and was doubly annoyed when he lit up a cigarette right next to him.

Perhaps it was a rare fit of kindness, or perhaps Snape had been scowling too hard, for the bristly-bearded man, wearing oil-smudged overalls and boots like looked as if they had seen better days, held out to him a dirty fingerprint encrusted carton of cigarettes. Snape had hesitated at first, wondering why the man was offering to share his cigarettes, until another emphatic shaking of the box in his direction made him reach out and slowly pluck one from the aluminum wrapping.

The man then let Snape use his matches with directions to "Smoke up; maybe it'll get rid of that long puss of yours," in a rough, thick Irish accent, before letting loose a hacking cough in between puffs of his own cigarette and walking away.

With all the second-hand smoke he had endured growing up, Snape was surprised to nearly choke to death with his first pull. By the second and third, he became used to the burn in his chest, and slowly began appreciating the sharp, musty scent of the tobacco.

That habit lasted all of ten years or so, right before Harry Potter came to Hogwarts, and Snape cursed himself for quitting, even though sometimes he felt that he needed more than just cigarettes to deal with the wayward boy and his posse.

Besides cigarettes, there had been one other vice that sometimes warranted the use of currency. That vice was cheap, or free, unattached sex.

Whenever stressors of his double life, as well as his past, had been too much to bear, Snape visited the darkest parts of Knockturn Alley. For a fee he could bury himself into a witch without having to offer anything in return except for a few Galleons. He fucked and took with no questions asked, and took his leave when he was done. Those witches were discreet, and he never had to worry about his business reaching the ears of anyone that hadn't been within the four walls where said event took place, which was another reason he always gave a few extra Galleons.

There had been a few times where the witches he slept with weren't whores, although they were still coarse in nature as well as scruples. They never saw the Potion master's true identity, as each time he had been under disguise, keeping his face behind a veil of well-placed magic. Snape never slept with the same woman twice and each of them had been one-offs. By the time they all became roused enough to raise their rouge-smeared and raccoon-eyed faces off the pillow to ask him questions, Snape had been long gone.

Typically each of his transitory partners of the flesh had been older women, most of whom were too jaded to bother with looking into his face. They merely rucked their robes up to their waist and allowed the odd, quiet wizard to carry on, after which out came an outstretched palm. No words were exchanged, except perhaps to ask what sort of sexual favour was desired for the evening. There was no touching, except for perhaps his fingertips holding onto the woman's waist which was necessary to propel himself forward, unless there was a wall or piece of furniture to brace his hands on.

The women never touched him either, except perhaps to push at him if he accidentally trod on their foot or hair or caused them discomfort by getting too carried away. Snape didn't give a damn if he did something that was a bother; the only thing he wanted to do was get himself off and go about his business.

But Hermione Granger. Sweet, innocent Hermione Granger in his bed had been the other side of the coin. Where those other women never touched him, Hermione seemed unable to keep her hands off him. Where he had been pushed away after going a bit weak-kneed from release, Hermione reveled in his weight upon her body, and wrapped her arms around him to keep him closer. When they were done, she curled up next to him, running her soft little fingertips along his body; if she was extra tired, then she tended to fall asleep sprawled out unceremoniously, her limbs half-draped on the mattress, and half-draped on Snape.

Snape never made a noise with those other women, not even when he reached completion. But with Hermione, his groans seemed to well up from the pit of his stomach, and he had been unable to rein in his exultation.

True, Hermione was inexperienced when she first came to his bed, but it had been evident that she knew what she wanted, and _who_ she wanted it from. The why and the who continued to stymie him to no end.

Snape knew that he should have told her no at first. Scratch that—he did tell her no, repeatedly. For starters, Hermione Granger was no doxy or the sort of witch that a wizard kept around for the occasional tumble. But ever since she first came to his room, he'd been drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and found her advances becoming increasingly difficult to resist.

Snape told himself that it was pointless to become involved with the young witch. He had seen many girls just like her drifting in and out the doors of his classroom for the past fifteen or so years. Witches like her completed school with top marks, and secured well paying jobs afterwards. If they chose to stay home, it usually was to care for a litter of screaming, whining, demanding children.

Of course, the children would come well after all proprieties had been observed. First was the proper courtship followed by a long engagement, after which the girl's tearfully happy mother (and a coerced father as no one was good enough for his little girl) were only too happy to send out fancy wedding invitations for the blessed event. Said daughters were 'good girls' and would only allow their fiancé the liberty of having a few kisses, maybe a few shy caresses shared in a brief but heated moment. Even before engagement and marriage, the girls might have dated a bit, but they saved themselves for the wedding night.

Snape had taken one look at Granger and sized her up the moment she stepped foot into Hogwarts. It was plain to see that she came from a middle-class family, no doubt from a loving home with parents that doted upon their daughter. She had been wide-eyed and full of awe, and eager to please. Hermione Granger was, without a doubt, one of the 'good girls', even if she had chosen to become entangled with the likes of him.

While Snape knew that he would most likely burn in the lowest pits of hell for even tainting her purity with the dark cloud that his life seemed to consist of since birth, he had been unable to help himself. Snape was no fool; he knew that no decent witch worth her salt would ever lay eyes upon him, lest it was to scorn him. That much had been made evident from his short-lived friendship with Lily Evans.

Even though Lily had deemed their friendship irreparable, despite the many times that Snape apologised for insulting her, it took years for him to finally accept that despite his one-sided love for her, no matter what he said or did, it would have never been returned. Witches like Lily Evans didn't date or marry or even socialise with wizards like Severus Snape that came from a broken home with two mad parents who left their child to practically raise himself. Hell, people like her would never set foot in the poor part of town he came from. They carried on with the shinier wizards that came from a good home. Those wizards always seemed to gleam; their clothing was always current and draped perfectly over their athletic builds; their hair was always clean and groomed within an inch of its life, and wherever they went, they were loved by the masses. Even if they weren't purebloods, their accepted status in society was enough to open doors for them.

Meanwhile, others untouchables like Severus Snape had to survive off the dregs of whatever life offered.

As an adolescent, Snape could have washed his hair; he could have put on robes or even Muggle clothing that properly fit his always too-thin frame. Yet he still would have seemed like an imposter. Even if he attempted to possess the skill of eloquent speech, he knew that all anyone would hear was a strong Northern accent, after which they would surely focus the remained of their attention on his too-big nose, gaunt features, and sallow skin, and shabby clothing.

Snape couldn't help how he looked; it wasn't as if he had a sit down with whatever Creator there was before being sent into the world. His features alone were enough to put people off, even without him opening his mouth. He looked shifty, sneaky. His eyes were like two dark bottomless pits in Hades and it made him look deceitful.

He had heard it all, and while it annoyed him, Snape became accustomed to rarely being given the benefit of the doubt and quickly learned to not expect it.

But, Hermione. Brilliant, wild-haired, loud-mouthed, highly opinionated, and understatedly beautiful Hermione Granger somehow managed to look past each of his foibles, even the ones he had no control over, and she accepted him.

When Snape realised that he didn't have to hide himself from the petite witch, it shocked him to the core. His entire life had been composed of nothing but hiding and secrecy and disguises, and he wondered if there would ever be a time that he could figure out who the hell he would be had he not been living by way of cloak-and-dagger.

Despite his life being shrouded in secrecy, Hermione chose to deal with Severus Snape. Repeatedly she had been met with difficulty at first, yet she continued to try and insinuate herself with him.

Snape knew that he first accepted her affections more so out of greed, but the circumstances had seemed nearly too good to be true. Yes, Hermione was technically of age, and if anything were to happen between then, he should have waited until she was out of school and no longer his pupil.

But propriety be damned; he wanted her, the consequences be damned.

Snape told himself that he didn't know if he would survive long enough to wait until Hermione was out of school. Deep down inside, he knew that he would have to answer for every wrong thing he had ever done, even those performed under coercion. But even if the Fates were kind to him and he did manage to survive whatever trouble was sure to blow his way, Snape knew that if he sent Hermione away one too many times, that any remaining opportunities with her would have been shot to hell. Even if he waited until she was no longer his pupil, Snape knew that Hermione would have grown older, wiser, and would never cast a second look in his direction.

He knew that assessment reached new heights of bastardtry and cynicism, but it wasn't cynical if it were true. Hermione would up and marry that freckled-faced idiot she and Potter went around with, or some other wizard would undoubtedly come beating down her door, eager to wed and bed the famous female member of the Golden Trio. Snape played out the scenario a thousand times in his head, and felt peevish when he acknowledged the portion of his mind that wished for the opposite to happen.

If by some chance they all survived whatever was to come, and if Hermione still chose to have him, Snape vowed that he would do his best to keep her happy. It wasn't as if he knew how to go about doing so; typically people were only as good as the examples they were brought up to live by. Snape knew nothing of tenderness or affection; the only constant things he knew had been abuse and neglect, both of which hardly constituted the grounds for a normal, healthy relationship with another person.

The fact that the young witch still hadn't run off screaming into the night said something. What that something was, Snape still didn't know, a notion that did not sit well with him. But he had to admit that Hermione seemed to be reasonably satisfied whenever they spent time together. So while envisioning her in his immediate future might have been a shot in the dark, but it was a risk he was willing to make.

Only his temper and his mouth had once again managed to hurt someone that he revered above all others.

Had he been able to speak to anyone else about his situation, Snape knew that would first be called a paedophile for consorting with a girl so young. Secondly, they would say he was mad for holding a young girl to such standards, not to mention letting her unknowingly shift and twist his thoughts.

Weary of pacing, Snape walked over to his armchair and fell down into it. He was so deep in his introspection that the cold hearth never occurred to him, and he continued to sit there, ruminating in the chilly, dark room.

It was sardonically funny how one fuck up could swiftly put things in perspective.

When Snape lashed out and called Lily a Mudblood out of a fit of shame and anger, she neatly retaliated by shaming him further. When Snape lashed out at Hermione and indirectly hinted that she was a fool for sleeping with him, she yelled right back, but the tears in her eyes hadn't gone unnoticed by him. He wondered if Hermione even knew she was crying, as she hadn't attempted to wipe away the single fallen tear that left a trail on her cheek.

Snape became defensive when he got the idea that Hermione was trying to imply that he was untrustworthy. He knew that he shouldn't have lashed out at her, considering that most people believed with the utmost conviction that Severus Snape was a snake that should never be trusted under any circumstances. He was used to it and they could all sod off for all he cared.

Hermione was the one person that he felt was a little softened to his unspoken and unshared plight, and it was a severe blow to his china-fragile ego to think that she thought ill of him. The only other person that claimed that trust him was Dumbledore, yet the wizard had an uncanny habit of speaking out of both sides of his mile-long beard-hidden mouth.

Now that he had time to calm his nerves, Snape realised that Hermione never had any ulterior motive for asking if he knew about the attack at the Burrow. He should have known better; the workings of his mind were much more intricate than the young witch's, no matter how much she thought she knew. And besides, the damnably honourable Gryffindor didn't have a cunning bone in her body if it erred to the side of maliciousness. She had probably just wanted to gain further information about her friends, nothing more, and he managed to twist her innocent question into something sordid, afterwards using something which should have been sacred between them to insult her.

Teacher or no teacher, it would have served him right had Hermione slapped him clear across the face.

His words had been cutting and unkind, to put it mildly. Snape overheard Draco calling Hermione a Mudblood to her face, and even then she kept her composure. Of course, he was sure that she shed her tears in private.

Snape told her... he didn't want to recall his words for even now they shamed him, but he regretted his actions. He didn't know if apologising would instantaneously fix things between them, but he was willing to eat not a slice but an entire humble pie, two if it meant that Hermione would forgive him.

To hell with the sex. Although he was unable to get enough of her tempting body, it had never had been solely about sex with the young witch. Reflecting back upon the time when he was seventeen years old, Snape remembered when he would have shagged just about anything. Being Head of House for so many years proved that budding young adults with racing hormones, boy or girl, were no different. Though bookish Hermione might have been, it seemed that she kept that side of her hidden. Snape had been the same way, his head always buried in a book, yet it had done nothing to impede his own sexual appetite and an awareness for the opposite sex. Although at that time had he attempted to chat up a girl, he would have been laughed right out of town. It would be a hard pill to swallow if Hermione were to say that she no longer wanted to continue with their intimate relationship, but if she were to accept his apology, he would try to be satisfied.

_You sound like a right optimistic bastard. Next thing, McGonagall will be trying to recruit you for her House._

Roughly running his fingers through his head and hanging his head in defeat, Snape knew that he was deluding himself by thinking that things would carry on without a hitch between him and Hermione. It was pointless to even dally with the idea; there were too many odds outweighing their favour.

Of course, now he would be staring her in the face until the end of term. Hermione could be subtle when she wanted to, although Snape had the ability to detect even the smallest flicker of emotion that came over her. No doubt she would look at him with eyes heavy with accusation. He could handle it; after all, Snape had handled much worse.

* * *

Hermione's mood hadn't improved much by the following morning, nor as the week dragged on. Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, as well as the hoard of other classes on her schedule weren't nearly enough to distract her from the argument with Snape weighing heavily on her mind, even if she was ready to drop each evening from her extensive course load. To make matters worse, she had been unable to corner Snape off to ask what the hell his problem was.

Despite sitting in gloomily lit classroom a few days a week, she and the professor might as well have been standing on two different continents with the way he barely looked over in her direction. More than once Hermione had raised her hand in Defence class and each time Snape pointedly ignored her. This was lost on the rest of the class, although some most likely suspected that the cantankerous professor had had enough of their resident know-it-all's voice.

However, she refused to be swayed and had raised her hand a fifth time when Snape asked the class about conjuring a Patronus Charm, holding it up so long that she nearly resembled a lamp-wielding statue. Only when Snape brushed past her desk, still without acknowledging her hand that was clearly in his eyeshot, did Ron turn around and frown slightly at Hermione.

"What's he on about?" Ron muttered out the corner of his mouth.

Snape had already turned back to walk towards the front of the class. "Five points from Gryffindor for talking out of term," he said without turning his head. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Weasley? Or perhaps you would like to take a feather out of Miss Granger's cap and finish teaching this class?"

Hostility rolled off Ron in waves but he was prudent enough to not reply with a smart answer. Harry was shooting the professor a look of pure loathing, and Hermione sat quietly, not acknowledging any of it.

She couldn't believe that Snape insulted her without looking at her. She almost preferred the professor glaring at her with obvious displeasure the way he had done countless times over the years. But as things stood, it was pointless to try and make Snape look at her; it was pointless to try and make Snape do anything he didn't want to. It was a bit like trying to put a leash on a dragon and attempting to lead the way.

Up and down the aisles of the candlelight classroom Snape continued to walk, idly droning on repelling Dementors. The entire class was subdued for the remainder, and barely made a peep when Snape assigned two rolls of parchment on defending oneself from Dementors.

Hermione was out of the classroom, walking between Ron and Harry when she stopped short. A first-year had been walking closely behind the three and hadn't noticed when Hermione stopped, and the boy smacked right into her back.

"Sorry!" he squeaked.

"That's all right," Hermione soothed, urging him to carry on. "I forgot my book, it's back in the classroom," she informed her friends.

"Are you mad? Snape is going to skin you alive if you go back in there," Harry told her.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, "he seemed more put out than usual, and that's saying something. He wouldn't even look at you."

Hermione huffed at this comment. "I don't care; I need my book. I'll see you two at lunch," she said before going off in the other direction. Harry and Ron shook their heads as they waved her off.

The corridor was almost empty now, and Hermione slowly made her way back to the Defence classroom. Cautiously peeking her head around the corner, she saw that Snape was sitting down at his desk, head bent low over the pile of homework they all handed in at the start of class.

Hermione hurried down to the desk she had been sitting at not five minutes ago. Her _Confronting the Faceless _textbook was right on top where she had purposely left it. Snape didn't look up, and Hermione took her place in the seat, folding both hands and placing them on top of her book. Postured rigidly, she almost looked as if she had been forced to sit in such an uncomfortable position.

"There's no reason for to you linger about. You deliberately left your book here; now take it and go," Snape said coldly, dipping a quill into a pot of ink and scratching its tip across the unrolled parchment beneath his hand.

The professor looked stern and unruffled, his face its usual rigid mask. Hermione was unnerved by his unnaturally calm attitude, and set her jaw firmly before speaking.

"So is this the way it's going to be from now on? Snide remarks and pretending that I'm not even here?"

Snape didn't answer. He continued writing and his quill scratching again the parchment sounded extra loud in the stark silence of the dungeon classroom.

"Professor?"

After another few minutes, Snape placed his quill upright in the pot of ink. Planting both hands palm down and rising from his desk, he slowly advanced on Hermione and lowered his head until their faces were only an inch apart.

"Subtlety, Miss Granger. Subtlety," Snape told her in a voice of silky steel before pulling himself upright and quickly disappearing through the office door in the back of the classroom.

* * *

**_Things can't be simple between these two. _**


	27. Chapter 27

**_A/N: I was and still am blown away by the response I received on the last chapter. I mean really, you all are AMAZING. I'm still replying to reviews because I want to thank each and every one of you for your thoughts as well as kind words. Mr Henry was actually sort of based on someone that is no longer in my life, but she was one of the most kindest people you could ever meet, despite life being unkind to her. _**

**_So this was meant to be one chapter, and when I kept typing and still hadn't finished, it was over 12k and I refuse to make your eyes bleed, so I will be updating again on Sunday! Let's just say that your reviews and all feed the Muse and keep me writing :D. Thank you again, and if you like the story, hit follow and/or favorite so you can get updates! I update every week short of the world coming to an end. And even so, you all know that I will find the 10th Doctor and will update from the TARDIS._**

* * *

_Subtlety, Miss Granger. Subtlety._

Hermione wondered how many underlying messages were buried in those four words. She was still reeling from Snape leaning in until their lips were nearly touching, only for him to pull away and leave her behind with a mind twisted with a sense of longing and confusion. When it became evident that he wasn't going to return to the classroom as long as she was in there, Hermione finally got up from her desk. She then had to run most of the way for her next class.

Hermione was rarely if ever late to her Advanced Arithmancy Studies class, and earned a curious look from Professor Vector when she dashed inside.

"Sorry, Professor," Hermione panted as she made her way to her seat, still trying to catch her breath as she began pulling her books out of her rucksack.

Professor Vector wasn't fazed as she knew Arithmancy was Hermione's favourite subject, which always found the witch on time for her lessons, and she merely nodded her head and continued on to the front of the classroom.

"Now as I was saying, I have more extensive charts for you to work on, but I'd like you all to translate it using the Agrippan method as well as the Chaldean method. Compare and contrast, and take note of any drastic differences."

_Finally something else for me to focus on, _Hermione thought, eagerly clutching onto the pile of number charts that Professor Vector sent drifting down the aisles with a flick of her wand. Numbers and symbols and translating them and making sense out of them all was second nature to Hermione. Anyone else would have looked upon it as hodgepodge and a half, yet Hermione found it soothing the way one was lulled by the dull click-clack of knitting needles striking together.

Ron thought Hermione insane when she continued with Arithmancy, claiming that 'all those bloody numbers and charts' gave him a headache. Hermione knew Ron wasn't daft, not judging by the way he helped her and Harry win that game of Wizard's chess during their first year. But pudding gave Ron a headache if he wasn't focused on it.

Shaking her head to herself and shoving away thoughts of her lazy friend, Hermione became so deeply engrossed in her work that she quickly finished the first chart Professor Vector had given her. The professor laughed when Hermione asked for a second one, only to finish it nearly as quickly as the first.

"What are you, trying to break a record, Hermione?" asked Mandy, a sixth-year from Ravenclaw.

Hermione looked up at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed witch and smiled at her. Had it been anyone else, Hermione would have either ignored them or replied with a snippy remark, but she was familiar enough with Mandy to know that she was only teasing in a good-natured way.

"You know this is my favourite class," Hermione answered, peering down at her number chart.

"Really?" Mandy replied, feigning ignorance. "I could have sworn it was Divination. In fact, Trelawney was looking for you just this morning."

"I'd sooner have Lockhart back as a professor again, thanks," Hermione said, causing Mandy to let out a snort.

Professor Vector had just given out that evening's homework moments before the afternoon bell rang. Mandy had been waiting for her friend Nikki, another Ravenclaw, who was apparently taking too long to pack her books up, because Mandy was huffing impatiently and shifting her weight between both feet. Just as Hermione was brushing past them both on her way out the classroom, Mandy ribbed her one last time about her two favourite professors as she waved goodbye.

"...so George told me that I might vomit on my first go round at Apparition," Ron was telling Harry and Seamus when Hermione walked into the Great Hall for lunch. "But Fred said that I might pass out. I don't want to faint like some girl, that's embarrassing."

"You won't faint," Hermione snapped, reaching over for the carafe of pumpkin juice to fill her goblet. "And last time I checked, anyone can faint, not just _girls_."

"So what? I still don't want to, either way," he grumbled.

"Honestly, Ronald. And do you really need to talk about becoming sick like that while people are eating? At least try and pretend to have table manners," Hermione sniffed, ignoring the indignation on his face.

"You'll be all right, mate," Seamus told Ron. "And besides, it's not like vomiting or fainting is the worst that can happen to you. Someone always manages to spl—"

"Splinch themselves!" added Neville in a fearful tone, his eyes widened. He had been sitting a few seats away from the group when he turned to chime in on the conversation. "Gran said that maybe I should wait until next year to try Apparation; said the last thing she wants to get is an owl saying that I've splinched myself into bits."

"Oh, Neville," Hermione soothingly told him, "you won't splinch yourself. You'll be fine; we'll help you."

"I'm not doing anything!" Seamus chortled. "No offense, Longbottom, but I don't think Mam'll be too pleased if I end up with half my arse in Scotland and the other half somewhere else in Great Britain."

"None taken," Neville glumly told him as he lowered his head. Hermione had just taken a bite of her sandwich and angrily mumbled something in Furious Female speech, causing Seamus to shrug his shoulders.

"No offense, Seamus, but you manage to blow up cauldrons, even when we're not in Potions," Harry pointed out. "Doesn't matter if there's no fire, or no cauldron, or no volatile ingredients, somehow you always manage to cause an explosion."

Seamus then used a word that made Neville's ears go red and Hermione scream at him, much like she usually did to Ron.

* * *

While the student body took time out for lunch, spending half the period eating and the other half socialising, Snape had been summoned to the headmaster's office.

"How are you, Severus?" Dumbledore asked when Snape stepped into the office and stood before his desk.

"Well as can be expected," Snape answered curtly, wishing the headmaster to get on with the reason for his summoning.

Snape was tired and mentally worn out, something that wasn't like to change in the near future. To top it off he was cross, mostly because he had been in the middle of correcting essays so he wouldn't have to do so later on that evening. It wasn't a terrible inconvenience to be interrupted; Snape had been correcting homework and tests for so long that it only took him a minute or two, if that much, per paper. The main issue was that he felt like being left alone in his dark dungeon classroom.

Now his eyes traveled to Dumbledore's withered right hand, and he saw that the blackened leathery skin had traveled well up past the headmaster's wrist.

"The last thing I wished to do was disrupt you, but as you can see," said Dumbledore airily, slightly lifting his destroyed hand for emphasis.

Snape said nothing as he withdrew his wand and walked over to Dumbledore's desk. Cautiously taking the elder wizard's hand in his, he ran the tip of his wand over the curse-inflicted area.

"The curse moved; marginally, but it has moved nonetheless," Snape proclaimed after a minute.

"Ah, I thought so," said Dumbledore casually, as if he had just been told that someone ate the last of his lemon drops. "Anything else?"

Snape stared hard at Dumbledore for a minute, and his fixed gazed was enough to convey what was unsaid.

"Well, it isn't as if I had planned on staying alive forever," the headmaster added, "and you did say that the curse would eventually spread. But enough of that; how is our young friend holding up?"

"Not pleased with me at the moment," answered Snape.

Even though Snape was no longer teaching Potions, he still maintained his own private stores of ingredients. As of late, certain supplies had been dwindling. The amounts taken were feasible, and to anyone else it might have gone unnoticed. But to Snape's hawkeye, it had been glaringly obvious. Besides, he always arranged his jars in such a way that if moved even a quarter of an inch, he would have noticed.

Any other time, Snape would have assumed the culprits to be Potter and his friends. But from what he gleaned of Slughorn's ramblings over the irksome boy, was that the newly appointed Potions professor would most likely hand Potter anything he needed, thus saving him the trouble of having to steal supplies.

True, there was always the odd student or two that had stolen from him over the years, but that was usually to make some trite concoction, such as a Love Potion. They certainly had no need for it now; the Weasley twins were making a killing with the rubbish they sold in their joke shop. Of course, even though Weasley Wizarding Wheezes products had been banned by Filch, Snape would still find the gaudy wrappers strewn about the Great Hall or the corridors, obvious with the golden set of W's on the front. He truly didn't give a damn if one of the little miscreants ingested a love potion or the like, and saw no reason to bother with the whole ordeal.

Besides, Filch got a kick out of performing surprise checks on the students to make sure they weren't harbouring any contraband. His twisted grin became more twisted when he was successful, and the caretaker behaved as if Christmas had come again when he snatched away said illicit item. Snape had been only too happy to regelate that tedious job to the Squib, as it meant that Filch would not have the time to harass him about Peeves or some other sort of nonsense.

"I do hope that you're keeping an eye on him," said Dumbledore offhandedly, reaching across his desk for a magazine. "I would prefer to keep unfortunate accidents to a minimum."

Snape wanted to churlishly retort that of course he was, what else did he do with his time, but the headmaster began commenting on whatever he was reading in _The Quibbler. _

"One last thing, Remus sent an owl this morning, asking if you would be so kind as to brew a batch of Wolfsbane Potion. I told him I would let him know if you were able to."

Just as Snape opened his mouth to ask if Dumbledore required anything else of him, perhaps to wipe the Boy Wonder's nose, Sybil Trelawney came bursting through the wide double doors across the room and stumbled into the office, looking like an ever elusive wide-eyed owl with her ridiculously oversized round glasses.

"Headmaster! I would like to—" she shrilled, obviously about to launch into a spiel until she saw that there was another wizard in the room. "Oh, I didn't realise that you were busy. Severus," she coolly greeted, uttering Snape's first name as if it left a nasty taste in her mouth.

"Trelawney," Snape replied with a slight air of distaste. _Malingering, drunken old tart_.

While most people believed that Snape had no manners, he could easily prove them wrong. Snape had plenty of manners and knew when to bite his tongue, but sometimes it was out of sheer entertainment and self-satisfaction that he uttered whatever was on his mind. One of those times happened to be now.

"What is it, come to complain about Firenze usurping your position again? Or perhaps the prediction of yet another imminent death has still not come to pass? No, there's a shortage of cooking sherry. Ah, that must be it, you are upset because you're about to be forced into sobriety. How ever will you manage?"

Trelawney became huffy with indignation and drew all of what seemed like at least ten frilly beaded shawls tightly round her shoulders. "Well, I never!" she spluttered, turning her nose up at a smirking Snape and ambling in the direction of Dumbledore's desk.

Instances where Trelawney had actually predicted something that became true were as common as hen's teeth. Her skills were as real as a three-pound note, and everyone knew this to be fact. So why Dumbledore kept the dotty woman on was a great mystery to all. Then again, there had been a great many professors that graced the halls of Hogwarts, most of whom proved to be either psychotic, in the case of Quirrell, as well as Dolores Umbridge, although she had been appointed by the Ministry of Magic. Lockhart's appointment had been baffling to those who saw beyond his shiny exterior, but Snape suspected said exterior had been the sole reason for his hire. And while Snape would sooner eat his own tongue than admit it, Lupin had been the most acceptable teacher yet. He still thought that Lupin had no business being around children, not with him turning into a werewolf once a month, but a werewolf paled in comparison when taking into account that one teacher had been controlled by the Dark Lord, and another, who said in so many words that she had no problem with killing children.

"What can I do for you, Sybil?" Dumbledore asked kindly, although there was a glint in his blue eyes that clearly wished for the woman to return to her overly-perfumed tower classroom.

Trelawney cast a furtive glance at Snape, a look which wasn't so furtive in the end considering the way her Coke-bottle glasses enlargened her eyes, and behaved as if she did not wish to speak with him present.

"I would prefer it if we could speak _alone_," she said, placing great emphasis on the last word.

"Are we through, Headmaster?" Snape asked.

"Yes, that will be all, thank you," Dumbledore replied.

Unable to reply, Snape walked until he was right in front of Trelawney. "My absence, as you wish," he told her sardonically, but not before offering a low, obsequious bow. Snape then rose to his full height, fighting back a snort when he saw the antagonised expression on her face. "Well," said Snape in a soft voice as he continued brushing past her, "I notice that you haven't been hitting those reserve bottles of sherry yet, but I suppose the day is still young."

Trelawney let out a loud indignant squawk as Snape's robes brushed against her as he made his way down the steps and out of Dumbledore's office. In between travelling from the gargoyle exit to the corridor, Snape let out a raspy laugh as he took glee in the easily riled-up Divination professor.

Trelawney was still bristling when she passed Snape in the corridors later on that evening. When the students and staff were convened in the Great Hall for dinner, she made a great show of gathering her shawls about, patting her frizzy hair (unsuccessfully) into place, and shuffling all the way to the end of the dais.

Shortly after the evening meal appeared on each table, Snape overheard Trelawney telling anyone who would listen that he had the manners of a boar.

_Well done; why not add to your repertoire of juvenile antics and stick out your tongue next? Give the first-years something to snigger at._

McGonagall said nothing as she was more interested in her dinner, but Madam Hooch, in her own forthright way, muttered that if Trelawney were to lay off the cooking sherry and leave the Defence teacher alone, perhaps she would no longer be susceptible to his disagreeable behaviour. Hooch then went on to tell the frizzy-haired woman that she would be next for her own brand of wrath if she didn't shut up and let her eat her dinner in peace, that she had been dealing with clumsy students all day who kept going arse over elbows in their flying lessons, and the last thing she felt like hearing was Trelawney's incessant nattering.

Snape and Hooch had had their fair share of bumping heads, especially when it came to Quidditch and what she called 'unreasonably and highly competitive' members on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Snape knew that his students had a blatant disregard for the rules while in the midst of playing; Marcus Flint had been a prime example of that. The only thing Snape had told the overzealous Captain was that if he killed another one of the students, the fault would lie with the Head of House, and for that, that he would personally make Flint's life a living hell. Otherwise, Snape turned a blind eye to the rest of the antics between his Slytherins and the other teams. Hooch was the referee, and it was her job to sort it out.

However, at that moment, if he was the sort of wizard to compliment another, Rolonda Hooch definitely would have heard his praises for the way she neatly told off Trelawney before suggestively stabbing her fork into the middle of her shepherd's pie, all without taking her yellow eyes off the dotty woman.

Flitwick had noticed the entire exchange, but appeared to keeping himself firmly rooted in neutral territory. Still, he had one small hand strategically covering his mouth that looked as if it was twitching in a suppressed fit of laughter. Slughorn was seated to Snape's right, although he was too busy with picking and choosing what he wanted to eat, and never batted an eye in the two witches' direction.

When the dinner hour was finally over, Snape swept out of the door behind the staff dais. He was eager to begin to tedious task of brewing Lupin's potion in the way that someone was eager to get a medical examination over with; the sooner he began, the sooner he would be finished.

When Snape first took the job of Potions master at Hogwarts, it became painfully obvious that if he was to be the one responsible for brewing, that he would need suitable quarters in which to do so. Deeming the student classrooms unacceptable for personal brewing purposes, Snape had found and kept locked a smaller yet cleaner room in the dungeons. Ever since finding the laboratory, Snape was sure that no one else knew about it and it was just as well, as he had placed wards on it that only he could get through.

This laboratory was just as dimly lit as the others, only whenever Snape was in need of it, he could brew his potions without having to use three rounds of _Scourgify _on each surface. The professor knew that he had anal-retentive tendencies when it came to cleanliness of the areas in which he brewed, but the smallest amount of unwanted herbs or other ingredients was the small distinction between a potion turning out wrong or nearly killing oneself. Students had the uncanny habit of not cleaning their workspaces like they were supposed to, and Snape had witnessed one too many explosions as a result of remnants from old potions that still lingered upon surfaces reacting with another.

After retrieving everything from his private stores and carrying it back to the laboratory, Snape lined everything on the marble countertop and set a cauldron down. He never liked doing things at the last minute, and inwardly cursed Lupin for giving him such short notice to brew the complicated potion.

Many would have been surprised that Snape was even doing something that would perhaps be construed as nice for a wizard that he barely shared the basic of niceties with. However, the two had somewhat of an understanding, and long after Lupin left his teaching position at Hogwarts, Snape continued to brew for him the Wolfsbane potion.

The word understanding was perhaps an overstatement, but as it stood, Lupin was part of the Order, and needed to retain every bit of his senses after each bout of transformation. But Snape swore a long time ago that he would do his part for the Light, and if he had nothing else to fall back in the world, he had his word. He would always stick to his promises, even if he did not like doing so.

However, a sudden burning pain in Snape's left arm erased all previous thoughts of his thankless task. Lupin's Wolfsbane potion would have to wait.

_And serve him right for waiting until the damnably inconvenient last minute_, thought Snape bitterly as he secured the laboratory before heading off in the direction of his rooms to retrieve his travelling cloak and mask.

* * *

Hermione had been tucked in her bed and well past the throes of deep slumber when something began tickling her face. Stirring slightly, she pushed at whatever it was brushing against the tip of her nose. The tickling stopped for a second, and she drifted back off to sleep. However, it began again as quickly as it stopped, and Hermione grew frustrated, although it still wasn't enough to completely wake her up.

Turning over onto her stomach, Hermione blindly groped for her duvet and pulled it up to her ears. No sooner than doing so did she realise how hot it was beneath the bed sheets; it was a blustery night and the house-elves must have been feeding extra wood into the large stove heater that sat in the middle of the dormitory. It had become so hot behind the bed curtains that at one point Hermione had shoved the covers down off her body. Now she remembered why she had done so in the first place, and only left them over her head for a minute of two.

After shoving the blankets back down in a heap around her waist, Hermione grumbled in her sleep as she lifted her head, pulling her clammy cheek off the hot side of her pillow and turning it over. Seconds after she was resting comfortably on the cool side, something gave a mighty tug on her curls, causing the top of her head to smart something fierce.

"Ow!" she cried groggily, blindly reaching up to push at her source of pain. Hermione's fingertips brushed against something warm and fuzzy. "Crookshanks!" she mumbled into her pillow, still refusing to look up. "Go away, I'm trying to sleep."

But Crookshanks deemed other things more important than his mistress' beauty rest. Capturing another section of her bushy curls between his teeth, he gave another pull, this time effectively causing Hermione to push herself into a semi-upright position to glare at him in the darkness of her curtain-shrouded four-poster bed.

"Crooks! What is it?" Hermione snapped, now marginally more lucid..

The cat was sitting upright to the side of her pillow, his yellow eyes glinting down at her as light poured in from between the spaces in the bed curtains. Crookshanks continued staring at Hermione until he suddenly darted down onto the floor, pausing at the side of the bed.

"What?!" Hermione hissed in a low voice, trying not to wake up her housemates. She scrambled to the side of the bed and wrenched the curtains apart to poke her head out. When it became apparent that the cat was waiting for her to get out of bed, Hermione heaved a sigh as she threw back the blankets, sliding out from between them and shivering as the sharp loss of warmth. Crookshanks then darted to the front of the dormitory, his bottlebrush tail stuck directly in the air.

"Wait a minute, Crookshanks!" Hermione told him, wondering what had her familiar in such a tizzy as she stood unsteadily, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

Crookshanks seemed to be losing patience with his human, because he ran out of the room. Hermione had just lowered one hand from her face when she caught sight of his bushy tail disappearing through the door, and she had to run to see where he was going.

"Come back here!" she fussed as Crookshanks hastily made his way down the curved stone steps that led to the common room. Through the darkened common room she ran, out through the narrow portrait hole, and into the frigid corridor.

"Crooks, if I get into trouble for running after you—_ow!" _she cried, stepping on a rough patch of flagstone and arriving at the sharp realisation that she was barefoot. Barefoot, wandless, and in her nightgown, she ran through the eerily silent corridors of Hogwarts, chasing after the furry ginger half-kneazle.

Without her wand, Hermione had been unable to Disillusion herself, although Crookshanks had woke her up so abruptly only to take off running at such a fast pace, casting the charm had been the furthest thing from her mind.

_I would be a rubbish Auror, _Hermione snapped to herself. _If I were to come across trouble, I'd have no way of defending myself. Very nice, Hermione, very smart of you to leave your room without your wand or slippers. Ow! This floor is rougher than I thought!_

Stumbling once more and fighting back a loud cry of pain as she stubbed her little toe on another patch of stone, Hermione continued running after Crookshanks. The animal was practically airborne as he fled through the castle, giving no quarter as his mistress scampered after him.

Down a set of moving steps the two went, Crookshanks far in the lead. Thankfully there was just enough light for Hermione to follow the sight of the bright orange cat, yet not enough that the portraits would have noticed the young witch running through the castle in her all-together. No matter that the nightgown was long-sleeved, and covered her from throat to ankles, surely the sight was highly odd, considering that she was being led on an invisible leash, a cat holding its reins.

The further they descended in the castle, the cooler it became and despite the thick white nightgown, Hermione drew her arms around her body to keep from shivering.

"Crookshanks, _no!"_ she protested when the cat began leading her down the long set of circular stairs that led down to the dungeons. "You are going to get me expelled! Do you know that? Forget detention, they'll toss me right out onto my nose!"

Crookshanks couldn't be bothered by the imminent threat of Hermione's possibly expulsion; there were more pressing matters at the moment.

The dungeons were the darkest part of the castle, as a few wall scones were the only source of light. However, they were placed far apart between each wall, and Hermione felt a foreboding sense of unease from blindly creeping around in the dark. Crookshanks' stealth seemed to go up by a hundred, and she didn't even have the excuse of the pitter patter of his footsteps.

_Please don't let me fall, __**please**__ don't let me fall, _Hermione chanted to herself. The last thing she wanted was for Filch to find her out of bed and wandering about. Snape...well, she might not have minded Snape finding her, but she knew that he would mostly likely become incensed.

Hermione never forgot the way Snape kept drilling into her head to not walk around the castle alone at night. She could practically hear him in her ear as she recounted his words. Maybe she could feign a bout of sleepwalking...no, Harry had done that once, and it didn't work out well for him.

Crookshanks had now walked so far back into the dungeons that Hermione had to give extra focus on merely seeing where he was. Decreasing her footsteps until she came to a standstill, Hermione felt Crookshanks twisting his body in a series of figure-eights around her ankles. He then walked away from her, as if trying to lead her in another direction.

The complete voidance of light seemed to intensify the frigid air in the dungeons, and Hermione wrapped her arms more tightly around her torso, trying to retain what little body heat she had left. She had never really noticed just how cold it was down there, as she had always been covered with her student robes or a thick jumper each time she came to visit Severus. Now she felt as if she were standing in the middle of a graveyard that had frozen over.

"Damn!" Hermione muttered under her breath. The icy flagstones beneath her feet were beginning to feel razor sharp, and it was still too dark for her to make heads or tails of anything. A soft '_Mrroww!' _ from her immediate right suddenly led her in the correction direction. "Crookshanks, what are you—" Hermione began, her words cutting off when her bare, aching foot struck something soft. "Oh!"

The apprehension she had already been feeling now flared into full out panic; Hermione had no wand, and there was the unmistakable feel of a body at her feet. Her heart began racing so fast it nearly hurt, and she was sure the thudding alone was loud enough to alert Filch and his mean cat, Mrs Norris, of her presence, even if they happened to be two floors above. The corridor was deathly silent and survival instincts kicked in and made Hermione want to flee, but something in her gut made her slowly drop to her knees and crawl closer towards the person on the floor.

Tentatively stretching both arms out, Hermione came in contact with Crookshanks fur, immediately feeling the rumble of his breathing beneath her fingertips. The cat meowed again, more softly this time, and Hermione continued blindly groping around, soon finding that Crookshanks was apparently sitting on top of the unknown person's leg.

"Crookshanks, I'm trusting you, as mad as that sounds," Hermione shakily told him, "because obviously you wanted me to come down here and..."

Trailing off that thought, Hermione lifted one hand and felt voluminous folds of scratchy wool, another stiff fabric beneath that and... buttons. Raising her hand, she found that there were more buttons, each of them in a single row.

"No..." she whispered fiercely to herself. "No!"

There was only one person in Hogwarts that never deviated from a long row of buttons on the front of what Hermione was sure would be a severe black suit had she been able to see. Continuing to root around in the dark, Hermione found the person's left hand, which was lying limply next to their thigh. Groaning as her knees dug into the rough, uneven floor as she braced herself on all fours to reach across them, she felt their right hand, held in a tight fist and clutching onto the unmistakably smooth shape of a wand.

"Professor?" she whispered, hazarding a guess that this was in fact Severus Snape she was intimately kneeling over. "Is that you?"

When there was no answer, no sort of acknowledgment of her presence at all, Hermione cautiously curved her hand around the hand holding onto the wand. If it was in fact Snape, she had no doubt that he would hex her for trying to take his wand, or at the very least she would end up pinned beneath him with his wand to her throat. While he didn't seem to be as paranoid as Alastor Moody, Hermione still did not want to be on the receiving end of any spells that came from the equally notorious and temperamental wizard.

Unable to find middle ground for both her reasons for being scared, Hermione dithered for a moment as she tried to think of her best course of actions. She couldn't leave whoever it was on the floor, nor could she help them without being able to see.

Crookshanks seemed to pick up on her hesitance, because his tiny, sharp teeth caught the edge of her nightgown's sleeve and he tugged, as if willing her to hurry up.

"All right, but stop rushing me!" Hermione snapped as a fierce shiver rocked through her. It was cold enough that her thick nightgown may as well have been made of gauze, because her teeth were beginning to chatter. "I can't see in the dark like you!"

The pitch dark corridor was intimidating enough, but the deathly silence and ominously still body she sat next to was worse. Hermione could still literally hear her heart beating, and she had to take several deep breaths to steel herself. Tightening her hand around the person's hand, she fervently prayed that the spell would work.

_"Lumos!" _

Her stomach had been doing nervous flips at the prospect of what she was about to see. Hermione nearly cried out when the spell worked, feeling her magic flowing through her hand and into the other person's, followed by a glimmer of pale white light shooting out from the tip of their wand. The person's arm was dead weight, and Hermione awkwardly wrestled it up to see their face, and she let out another sharp cry when she found herself staring at an unconscious and deathly pale Severus Snape.

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**_More on Sunday! Promise! _**


	28. Chapter 28

**_A/: Wow, this is my longest chapter yet, so please forgive me if there are still a few errors left. Once my eyes have stopped bleeding, I'll correct them all. A HUGE thank you to MrsHH for her assistance with this chapter as she was able to pull thoughts out and help me make sense of what I was trying to say, plus other necessary info in general. _**

**_Again, thank you for the reviews, thoughts, alerts, favorites...really, THANK YOU. I still haven't forgotten about you all, I just wanted to get this chapter up instead of at wtf o'clock like I usually do. So hopefully this one does justice and conveys what I was trying to say! Before I forget, there are mentions of murder, rape and bad stuff in general in this chapter. Just thought I'd give that warning in case it puts people off. Again, just a mention._**

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Snape was sitting upright against the wall, head tilted back with curtains of lank black hair sticking to his scalp. His weight was deviating to the left, and the awkwardly seated positioning gave away that it had been an arduous effort of keeping himself propped up. His clothing seemed to be intact, although there was something about his appearance that made him look like a bedraggled ghost. Snape's long black travelling had been pulled around most of him, completely shrouding his thin upper body. The cloak was long enough to cover all of him but the remaining fabric was bunched at his waist, and covered his sprawled legs to the knee. Despite the wizard's obviously weakened nature, it hadn't stopped him from keeping his wand at the ready, and Hermione felt somewhat mollified by that small observance.

_Oh please, please wake up!_ Hermione thought franticly."Professor?"

Snape seemed to be dead to the world, the only thing giving away that he was in fact still among the living being the slight rising of his chest beneath his cloak. Unaware that someone was next to him, his eyes remained closed. It was a while before they opened after Hermione spoke.

"Professor Snape, can you hear me?"

There was still no response; although Snape opened his eyes wider, they remained flat, lifeless and unseeing. He was staring straight ahead into the darkness, and not even a glimmer of recognition showed in his face.

Hermione's panic meshed with a strong dose of over-protectiveness, but t didn't stop her from taking Severus' lit wand into her own hand to begin running it over the length of his body. Crookshanks had still been on top of the wizard but moved out of his mistress' way to stand dutifully by Snape's side, looking like a furrier male version of Bastet guarding her loved ones.

Snape remained uncommunicative as Hermione moved his wand up and down his prone form. His eyes continued staring into space, giving him the look of a catatonic person.

"Professor, are you all right?" asked Hermione worriedly when he still didn't respond to her. She wasn't sure if he even knew she was there, and was too scared to act brashly for fear of his reaction should he suddenly come back to his senses.

Hermione had never seen Severus in such a state, not even when he stumbled into Grimmauld Place with blood blooming patterns through his shirt. Now he didn't seem to be injured in such a way, although it was hard to tell as he was still covered in his travelling cloak and huddled against the wall. Bringing the wand up higher, Hermione saw that Snape's gaunt, ashen face looked more sickly and withdrawn than usual, and a fine sheen of sweat was covering his forehead.

Typically when Snape returned from his meetings, which was where Hermione was positive he had been that evening, he was wrought with tension and the grimace on his face probably was nowhere close to matching the pain he felt. But this lifeless, expressionless Snape was scaring the hell out of her.

Hermione had half a mind to slap him, pinch him, yell or do something, _anything _that would make him respond to her. Whatever happened that night, it had been enough to make the wizard completely shut down. Even though his eyes appeared to be unable to register anything, it was obvious to Hermione that Snape seemed to be purposely trying to not look at anything, as if he had earlier seen something that he deeply regretted.

"Professor?" she softly called out once more. "Professor Snape?"

Silence.

"Severus?"

At the mention of his given name, a flicker of awareness finally showed in Snape's black eyes. Only after Hermione placed one small hand on his cold, clammy cheek did he seemed to become slightly roused. His thin, cracked lips parted but no sound came out.

Hermione didn't know if Severus could walk at that point, nor did she know how to get to his rooms on her own. Crookshanks had led her to some unknown area of the dungeons, and Hermione had no clue how to get the incapacitated wizard to his feet, much less to his room so he could lie down. Still, she had to try something as they couldn't remain on that cold floor.

"Severus? Let's get up from here, shall we?" Hermione gently offered, reaching down to slip her hand into his and trying not to recoil when she felt his frigid fingers against her skin. "You can even yell at me and give me detention if you like, but we need to move from this corridor."

Snape said nothing as Hermione sat next him. His hand remained limp in hers, although the witch held steadfast onto it. She didn't know what to say at that point. Even though Severus' face was impassive, Hermione kept furtively glancing at him and was shocked to find that his eyes were no longer lifeless; they were the eyes that belonged to a person who had looked into the deepest pits of hell yet somehow managed to escape, albeit not completely unscathed. Fire burned in those dark orbs, and Hermione thought if Severus was to look directly at her, that she would burn right along with him.

Struggling to find something to say that wouldn't sound completely inane at the moment, Hermione felt very much out of her depths. Finally murmuring something about them getting up from the floor to seek solace in a warmer place, it took several long minutes of cajoling and gentle prodding before Snape allowed Hermione to help him to his feet. She was still holding onto his wand and had to artfully arrange it between her fingers when they held hands. Once Snape remained standing by dint of pressing one pale, shaking hand against the wall, Hermione cautiously moved in and slipped her arm around his free arm.

This whole scenario was throwing her off, as usually even with Snape in an insurmountable amount of pain, he would still sneer yet tell her what he needed. No, he wouldn't admit to needing anything; Hermione always had to have a pull with him. But the professor had yet to speak, and even in the darkness, it was clear to her that he was struggling to remain on his feet.

"This way," he finally uttered in a broken, rusty tone, sounding as if it pained him to speak. He was still grasping onto the wall as he began slowly walking down the length of the corridor.

Hermione held his lit wand out in front of her and docilely followed behind, wondering where she was being led. She scarcely gave a second thought to Crookshanks, who had sense enough to follow behind without being told.

"I'll need my wand, Miss Granger," rasped Snape, pausing when they reached a part of the wall that looked the same as the rest of it.

Hermione handed the wand over and watched as Snape pointed it at the wall. Without uttering a single word, he uncovered a nondescript door, its well-oiled hinges never giving so much as a single creak when it swung open.

Hours prior, once Severus had been summoned and left Hogwarts, his evening had passed much too slowly, yet in a blur. Never would he become used to viewing the attacking and killing of innocent people. To make matters worse, he had watched a child that was mostly likely the same age as many of his first-year students being tossed around like a rag doll before he was killed. That child suffered, along with his parents, in a way that no one should ever suffer.

It hadn't been enough for the Dark Lord to torture Muggles; many of the Death Eaters had undergone their own share of torturing. 'Character building', the Dark Lord sometimes said. Over and over he used his own wand against his followers, and when the gathering had finally been dispersed, Snape nearly didn't have enough energy to Apparate to the front gates of Hogwarts.

Slowly and painfully Snape had made his way into the castle. The muscles in his legs fought and protested with his every step, and his lungs burned whenever he took in the smallest of breaths. For what was mostly like the hundredth time or so, he wished that he could Apparate directly to his rooms.

Mentally and physically he felt half-dead, and his only reprieve had been the cold stone floor and wall that he collapsed upon once he was finally down in the dungeons. Barely aware that he had been lying down for some time, Snape gave scant notice to his bruised cheek becoming further irritated from pressing down onto the roughly hewn stone. After an undeterminable amount of time, Snape had finally managed to shift his wand hand up to his face and nonverbally cast a weak _Lumos._

It could have been five minutes or five hours; it had been hard to say. But between bouts of prising his weary eyes open, only for them to crash shut seconds after, it was around the third or fourth time of forcing them back open that Snape caught sight of an orange blob hovering around his head. At first he thought that he had been hallucinating, until the orange blob moved closer and swiped something damp and rough across his protruding knuckles.

The orange blob had then moved back a few steps, lying itself on the floor next to him. Only when Snape mustered all the energy possible to make his eyes focus, did he find himself staring into the one of the most squashed faces he had ever seen on what he was sure belonged to a cat.

His brain was still muddled but it took only a few seconds to realise that he was in fact staring into the furry face of Granger's cat.

He had been unable to avoid the damn thing whenever he attended meetings for the Order at Grimmauld Place. Countless times Snape had been sitting at the kitchen table down in the basement, and the tenacious creature crawled beneath it and took to sitting on top of his feet. Snape didn't think dragonhide boots to be a comfortable resting place for a cat, but what the hell did he know? He had never been a cat, and he had never took to perching upon a pair of boots. But the feline apparently deemed Snape's boots a suitable resting place, and the wizard didn't have the heart to make him move.

Besides, it had been nice to have someone, rather, something, willingly touching him. Even if he had been unable to move his feet for the better part of an hour. Despite his toes going numb, Snape had been somewhat amused by the sizeable cat sitting on his feet, and thought the creature to be just as bold and brash as its bushy-haired owner.

Snape had been unable to remember the damn thing's name, but as he lie painfully on that cold dungeon floor, he took some small comfort when he realised who was sitting next to him, one stretched paw resting on top of his splayed hair.

He vaguely remembered pushing himself up to lean against the wall, but the movement alone further wore him out. One minute he closed his eyes, and the next he reopened them to find the cat's owner hunched beside him with a look of outright panic on her pretty face.

Granger's cat sitting on his hair, and then Granger herself with her ridiculous and unreasonable hair inches away from his face; it was like he couldn't escape the clutches of either if he wanted to.

Even though it had been a moment before Snape remembered that he was sitting on a cold and very uncomfortable dungeon floor, something inside of him sparked when Hermione pressed her soft hand upon his cheek, and shook him out of his stupor.

Remembering that he had initially been in that specific corridor which led to his private laboratory as Lupin's Wolfbane potion still had not been brewed, Snape almost gnashed his teeth in frustration. He was too tired to think or even conjure up a glass of water to soothe his parched throat, much less stand on his feet for an hour to brew anything.

"What are you doing down here, girl?" asked Snape in a rough voice, his brows furrowed together as he glared at Hermione. "Do I need to spell it out in Runes for you to remember what I told you about wandering around after curfew?"

The two were now inside of his laboratory, and the only thing he could do was scramble to hold onto the edge of the table to keep from collapsing. Hermione seemed to notice his weak limbs for she instantly found a low stool and dragged it over, urging him to sit down.

"Crookshanks," she hastily explained, gathering the hem of her nightgown in one hand and kneeling down in front of the professor. "He woke up me, made me chase him all the way down here. I'm glad he did, too. Are you all right? Is there anything I can do to help?"

_Crookshanks; that's the damn thing's name._

For the first time in a long time, Snape was surprised to find that he was too worn out to display his usual sense of sarcasm. There were a litany of things he wished to tell Hermione; he wanted to tell her to spare him from another bout of her incessant coddling, to make sure that she didn't cry on his head...and to thank her for discreetly finding him in his time of need before anyone else could.

To be caught in a compromising position by Granger had been one thing; but to be caught by students he had to see and teach on a daily basis... Snape knew he would never live it down. Short of being either teased or pitied, he knew there were students who would have been glad to kick him while he was down. Then would come the pompous, gloating faces, to which he would lose his temper. A lifetime of detention wouldn't even take the away the sting of embarrassment at being caught hugging the floor by one of his students. Madam Pomfrey was another who would most likely be summoned, after which all the Heads of Houses as well as other professors would become aware to his plight.

No, it was easier to avoid all the fanfare by dragging himself to his rooms and tending to his own wounds.

But he was tired, and not the sort of tired that could be sorted out with a full night's rest. He was tired of all the summoning and running between two masters, both of whom either expected absolute perfection from him, or at times, what seemed like outright failure. He was tired of seeing the scared, tear and snot covered faces of men, women, and children as they begged and pleaded for their lives to be spared. And most of all, he was tired of putting on a stoic face day in and day out, pretending as if none of it affected him.

However, the only way to deal with it all was to pretend that it didn't affect him, although a person was only able to lie to themselves for so long.

Typically when people lied to themselves, they began believing the lie, and became so deeply rooted in it that after awhile they were scarcely able to sort out the untruths from reality. But Snape knew that he would never be able to become fully submersed in such a wicked web of evilness and lies. He had at one point, and vowed never return to that point again, as it brought him nothing but grief and heartache.

Snape's eyes burned with the effort of keeping them open, and he was sure he looked like death warmed over. But the last thing he wanted to do was close his eyes; if he did, then he would see the pleading, tear-ridden brown eyes of that young boy who had been easily disposed of by his 'fellow' Death Eaters.

It apparently hadn't been enough for that family to be put through the horrific ordeal; the child had been killed first while his parents looked on. Wormtail had then taken hold of the woman, nearly pulling her arms out of its sockets in a fit of brutality and forcing her down on the ground.

Snape knew that the rodent-like turncoat always held a perverse air about him, but that night his depraved ways soared to new heights. It was no secret that even the lowliest of whores refused to touch Wormtail, a fact which was a bit of a joke among Voldemort's followers. This led Wormtail into trying to take whatever he could, no matter the age of the witch or their blood status. Snape even noticed Wormtail's roaming eye whenever they encountered young wizards whom had a more delicate appearance.

That night, the degenerate had nearly raped the woman while her husband looked on, unable to do anything as he had been held down by two Death Eaters, one of whom had his booted foot on top of the man's head, forcing him to listen to the screams and cries of his wife.

Snape knew he was many things, but he was no rapist, and it had been all he could do to not use _Sectumsempra _to castrate the poor excuse for a wizard.

He didn't know whether to be revolted or relieved when another of the Death Eaters killed the woman, even as she lie struggling beneath Wormtail.

Macnair had only killed the woman for two reasons; one, he would have sooner cut off his own cock than willingly lie with a Muggle woman, and two, he had an open dislike for Wormtail and used every opportunity to ruin his fun.

Most of the other Death Eaters shared that same sentiment about sleeping with a witch that wasn't pureblood, and idea which Snape found ridiculous in itself. It wasn't as if their cocks would burn and melt away into nothingness, and besides, pureblood lines had become so diluted that it was a miracle first cousins weren't getting married. Although there were some that would much rather marry and copulate with a close family member than do so with a half-blood or Muggle-born. Some old wizarding families had actually done so, although it was one of those things that was swept under a rug and rarely discussed in the light of day.

Wormtail would have fucked anything so long as it was warm and had some semblance of an orifice, and he nearly cried when Macnair cast the Killing Curse on his unwilling sex partner. He had then heaved his grime-ridden, rotund form up from the ground to unsteadily launch himself at the snarling wizard until Snape interjected, his voice distorted as he told them both to shut up so they could get away before the authorities had been alerted.

By that time, the woman's husband had also been killed and left in an oddly-twisted heap a few feet away from the bodies of his wife and child.

Long after the Death Eaters had returned to their initial meeting place, Wormtail continued to carry on about Macnair killing the woman before he had a chance to have her. He whined to the point that the Dark Lord roared and swore at him, only to begin throwing hexes at anyone within his eyesight.

Snape felt the effects of the Cruciatus one too many times that night, and vowed that when met with the first available opportunity, he would kill Wormtail and leave his body for scavengers.

His mind kept flickering back, recalling the look of terror in the family's eyes, recalling the scent of fear and piss, as the young boy had been so frightened that he wet himself. Snape almost forgot that he was no longer in that house, but in his private, dimly lit laboratory, perched on top of a small stool with fine tremors running through his body. He didn't realise that he was shaking until Hermione stood up and slowly advanced on him, the way one might approached a spooked horse, and gently rested her steadier hand on top of his.

"Sir?"

Snape came back to reality and wordlessly searched Hermione's soft brown eyes for a moment. The young witch reached out and brushed back the limp strands of oily hair partially covering his face, tilting her head up to look directly at him.

Hermione seemed to know that Severus didn't want to or was unable to talk about whatever had him so distressed. Still, she moved in closer to him and threaded one trembling hand into his damp hair, and gently guided his head to rest upon her shoulder.

The unspoken horrors of his night continued to weigh heavily on Snape's mind, combined with the fact that he knew he shouldn't even be next to Hermione. This time his self loathing had nothing to do with the fact of her being his student; he knew he wasn't good enough for her. Especially not after standing by and doing nothing to help stop the slaughter of an innocent family.

_For the greater good._

He heard those words one too many times, and all it entailed was that no matter what he witnessed, what he had to endure, at the end of the day he'd better keep himself alive. To help anyone else meant to risk his own life, and that was a gamble that he could not take.

Snape hadn't been the one to raise his wand to those people; it had been the sole efforts of the Dark Lord's true followers. Yet it still didn't keep him from telling himself that blood was on his hands, and Snape felt filthy and loathsome as he sat in that dimly lit laboratory, crouched and trembling on an uncomfortable stool with his head on the untainted witch's body.

Still, it wasn't enough for him to move out of Hermione's warm embrace or push her away.

"You need to rest, a proper rest," she was now gently suggesting over his head. "Perhaps you should go to the hospital wing, have Madam Pomfrey take a look at you."

Snape gave a dismissive scoff, a sound that became lost into the thick material of Hermione's nightgown covered shoulder.

"As enticing as that sounds," he began, "I must decline."

"But why?" Hermione shot back. "It's not as if she asks a lot of questions, and you're a professor, so surely you can avoid—"

"What part of _spy_ do you not understand, Miss Granger?" Snape snapped, sounding more like his usual self as he pulled out of Hermione's grasp. "I go to the hospital wing and I might as well announce to the whole of Hogwarts as to why I'm being summoned every other evening at nightfall." Snape shook his head, the small movement making him grimace in pain. "No, I will tend to myself just as I always have. It's bad enough that I dragged you into all this, but this is where it ends."

"I understand," Hermione replied, struggling with her words. "But I still say you need a rest. You look like you're about to keel over from exhaustion."

Snape levelly eyed the young witch for a moment. "Surely you've heard the phrase, 'there's no rest for the weary'? Besides—" Snape paused to briefly gesture to the ingredients and cauldron spread out on the work table next to him, "Wolfsbane isn't exactly self-brewing."

Hermione's mouth fell open, and her words came out spluttered in outrage.

"But how are you going to brew anything? You can barely keep your eyes open!"

"Tell that to your favourite professor," Snape wryly replied. "Or perhaps you can take up your issue with the next full moon. Either way, this damned potion needs brewing. Merlin forbid Lupin doesn't get it in time, but it won't make a difference. The blame will somehow lie with me, like it always does."

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" Hermione snapped, drawing herself up to her full height in exasperation. "Why did he wait till the last minute to ask for the potion? There are calendars he could follow, not to mention lunar charts! Lupin, of all people, should have known better."

Snape was still uncomfortable, and the hard stool he was sat upon was digging into his aching tailbone. But in spite of his agony, he was surprised that Hermione was uttering a statement that wasn't riddled with a litany of accolades when it came to her old Defence teacher.

That entire year, Snape had been forced to listen to the greatness of Remus Lupin where his colleagues and students were concerned. Snape wouldn't have claimed to be jealous, but all the same, he did wish he could make it through dinner without listening to others fawning over the man. Even Dumbledore had gushed in such a way over Lupin that his words were able to turn even the hardest of stomachs.

So to hear Hermione Granger speaking about him in a way that pointed out his faults was refreshing, to say the least.

"While I am sure that this is one of those rare times, perhaps because of the imminent full moon, but it is safe to say that I agree with you, Miss Granger," Snape told her. "As it is, Lupin will be waiting for his potion and it needs to be made tonight."

Snape took that opportunity to gingerly shift off the stool and push himself to his feet, but no sooner than his weight settled, he let out a roar of pain as his body protested at the movement.

Hermione immediately noticed Snape's legs giving out on him, and without thinking, she stepped forward and caught him around the waist.

"Granger!" Snape roared, feeling a fresh wave of perspiration rolling over his skin beneath the thick woolen layers of his cloak and suit as all of his muscles seized up, making him stumble forward and nearly knock over Hermione. "You daft girl, are you trying to break your back!?"

Hermione could only yelp and grunt as her limbs strained under the solid weight of the professor.

"Well did you expect me to let you just fall on your face?!" she breathlessly shot back, firmly planting her bare feet on the floor in a struggle to gain purchase. "Merlin's pink knickers, why are you so bloody tall and _heavy!_"

There wasn't a single thing humorous about the situation at hand. Snape was still in a great amount of pain, so much that he found it hard to breathe. He could barely stand on his own, and his only saving grace was the petite witch he was nearly wrapped around.

Snape towered completely over Hermione, and his face was buried into the top of her head. He couldn't help from clutching onto her, even though he could feel her small frame shaking with the effort to keep him standing. The fact that he was wrapped around her like a sloth holding onto some tiny creature almost turned his grimace into a smirk. But the eruption of 'Merlin's pink knickers' nearly sent him over the edge.

He didn't know why; it wasn't as if he had never heard Hermione swear before. Of course, he strongly suspected that the witch had been unaware of the dirty words that poured easily from her mouth during some of their more pleasant encounters.. Although, Snape had been to blame for Hermione's sudden change in speech.

Hermione tended to swear lustily as a blue-collar worker downing his third drink in pub on a Friday night whenever she neared climax. She still retained some of her initial shyness and only became verbal whenever things grew heated, but that was the only time Snape heard her curse.

"Arrgh! Professor, I can't hold you for much longer!" Hermione gasped between gritted teeth, her hands slipping against the folds of Snape's travelling cloak. "I need to put you down."

"You shouldn't have held onto me in the first place!" Snape snarled between equally clenched teeth, feeling another fresh round of pain sweeping over him and leaving him dizzy.

"All right, wait a minute!" Hermione panted, her chin digging into her chest beneath the weight of Snape's head pressing down on hers. "If I could just get you—_damn! _I don't have my wand!"

In between trying to keep himself from losing consciousness, Snape internally berated Hermione, wanting to know what sort of witch was she to go anywhere without her wand.

"We'll discuss that later," Snape ground out. "Take out my wand, it's in my inner pocket."

"OK, alright, let me see if I can move my hands," said Hermione, awkwardly trying to pry one hand loose. "I can't, Professor! Do you think you could—"

"If I let go, I'll fall and take us both down," Snape cut off in a tight voice. "You will have to find a way to get it."

It took another second of shuffling, panting, and huffing before Hermione was able to move her and Snape around so they wouldn't take a spill. He was dead weight on her, and she had to press her back onto the edge of the work table just to keep herself from falling. Using one hand to keep Snape against her, Hermione finally managed to get one hand in front of her and slip her fingertips beneath his cloak.

Her task still wasn't an easy one, not with the way Snape's long, firm body was nearly pressing all the air out of her lungs, and Hermione nearly wept when she felt the handle of his wand. Sliding it out inch by inch, she wrenched her arm free from between their bodies and turned her head, her eyes immediately falling upon an empty corner of the room.

She had never been in this specific room, and surmised that Snape used it to make potions for the hospital wing and such. If she had been able to examine her surroundings more closely, Hermione was sure that she would barely be able to find a single speck of dust or dirt in the area. When Snape taught Potions, it was true that he kept a manner of all things nasty inside of jars and bottles in his classroom, but he at least set great store by keeping things in a meticulous and orderly fashion.

Still, it was a dungeon laboratory, and the area wasn't exactly immaculate as a freshly mopped hospital floor, but Hermione could think of no other alternative at the moment.

_It's better than nothing, _she told herself as she aimed her wand at an empty corner of the room and conjured up a high pile of squashy pillows and blankets.

"Professor, I'm going to move us, all right? Just hold onto me," she told Snape, letting out a fierce groan as she hefted them both up from the work table.

Feeling Snape nod his agreement into the top of her head, Hermione doggedly pulled him across the room while trying to remain gentle. When her legs moved, Snape's legs moved, until they made progress. Shifting his wand in her hand so as not to break it, knowing that the wizard would kill her if she did, Hermione managed sort of an awkward vertical wrestling move to slowly manoeuvre him to the floor, all the while keeping his weight against her.

With an air of triumph, Hermione arranged enough cushions beneath Snape's head until he looked comfortable. Finding that she was weak-limbed and shaking from straining to hold him up for so long, she had to pause for a moment to catch her breath.

All the while, Snape was breathing shallowly but appeared to be marginally better now that he was lying on a soft surface.

Hermione was still rapidly inhaling while unfastening the clasp of Snape's travelling cloak when he finally spoke.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said in a low voice. "But don't you _ever_ do that again!"

"Not bloody likely," Hermione grumbled, now engaged with the task of unbuttoning the front of his frock coat. "How would it look to have Hogwarts Defence teacher not show up to class because he cracked his head open on the ground?"

There was no way she would allow Severus to get hurt while he was in her presence. Hermione knew that she had absolutely no control over anything that happened while they were apart, and little control during those rare times when they were alone, and she would sooner gnaw off her own arm than to stand by and watch something happen to him.

"The masses would celebrate, no doubt," said the professor sardonically, grimacing again yet lifting one hand to try and push Hermione away from his chest. The witch merely hissed at him before shoving his hand back to one side, intent on continuing with undressing him to check for further injury.

Snape glared daggers at Hermione, his dark eyes nearly boring a hole into the top of her bowed head. "I hope it's not your intent to become a Healer, Miss Granger. No doubt your patients would be put off with that appalling beside manner."

"No, I'm actually a bit squeamish when it comes to blood," Hermione replied matter-of-factly, intently peering down at his bare chest. "No bleeding this time, thank goodness."

Snape found Hermione's comment about blood peculiar, especially considering that she had volunteered her services all those other times when he was covered in it. "I could have told you that had you simply asked."

"I could have asked, and you still wouldn't have told me."

Snape knew Hermione was right, but he wasn't about to admit it and continued glowering at her.

"Do you need water?" Hermione was now asking, pressing the back of her hand to Snape's forehead. She remembered the fever that he suffered at Grimmauld Place; it had taken a few hours for her to help break it with use of cold compresses. His skin now felt nearly cold as those compresses, and Hermione knew that he needed to be warmed up. Scooting down to Snape's feet, she carefully pulled off his boots and set them to the side. "Professor?"

"The only thing I _need_ for you to do is find your shifty cat and return to your tower."

"So you can yell at me later when you aren't poorly," Hermione continued as if she hadn't heard him, conjuring up a glass of water and holding it to his lips, "but for now perhaps it would be better if you told me how to brew the Wolfsbane."

Snape drained the glass and had just closed his eyes, reopening them to focus on Hermione's face when he heard her comment about the Wolfsbane.

"Absolutely not."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"Is it because you think I can't do it?" asked Hermione, puffing up a bit.

"Simmer down, you little wretch," Snape retorted in a soft tone incongruous to his insulting words. "Wolfsbane is a difficult enough potion, even for the most experienced of potioneers. One slip up, one wrong move, and the entire thing becomes tainted. The last thing I need is you accidentally poisoning Lupin as a result of well-placed intentions. Not only would it be bad form, but again, it would offer ugly fodder to the masses."

Hermione paused. She hadn't thought about it that way, but Snape proved a good point.

"I won't ruin it, I promise," she pleaded. "Maybe you could check to make sure I'm doing everything correctly before I proceed to each next step," Hermione suggested. "I'll bring it to you, you won't even have to move."

Snape went rigid but lapsed into thoughtful silence as if he was considering her offer.

"Professor...Severus, please? Let me do this. I promise to not add murderer to my CV."

"Very well," he conceded. "But if a single thing is off, then down the drain it goes."

"That sounds fair," Hermione agreed, standing up and walking over to the work table.

Hermione had slipped Snape's wand back into his pocket after settling him on the blankets. Right before closing his eyes again, he withdrew it and flicked it in her direction. An old piece of parchment materialised on top of the work table, and all it took was a cursory glance for Hermione to see Snape's spidery handwriting covering its entire length. Perusing it more thoroughly, she saw that he had explicit directions for brewing the Wolfsbane, down to every clockwise and anticlockwise turn and half turn of the stirring rod.

Snape was close to feeling irritated for having to depend upon the little busybody once more, but he knew without her, Lupin's potion wouldn't get brewed, and Snape, himself, would most likely still have been lying in that darkened corridor.

Gritting his teeth as he tried to turn from his back onto his side, Snape gave up the effort and settled for burying his face in one of the soft pillows. Images of his horrific evening kept flashing through his mind, and difficult was a euphemism for saying that it was nearly impossible for him to relax.

Without Snape realising it, he gradually became lulled by the sounds of Hermione mixing, grinding, and adding things to her cauldron. Little snicks of glass striking another piece of glass, the stirring rod briefly clanking against the pewter cauldron as she stirred, and even the way she hummed and sighed as she pondered over each step; it was soothing to his ears and Snape dozed off without intending to.

"Professor?"

Snape opened his eyes to find Hermione crouched beside his head. She was holding a phial with a few drops of purple liquid in it.

"How long was I asleep for?"

"For about twenty minutes; I prepared everything already and wanted to show you what I had so far before continuing on," Hermione explained, gesturing to the phial.

It was too dark for Snape to properly examine the phial's content, not that it made much difference as he was too weak to even hold onto the bit of glass.

"You'll need my wand again," he told her, keeping absolutely still as he waited for Hermione to reach into his pocket and pull it back out. "Cast _Lumos_ first, I can't see a damned thing down here."

Once the wand was lit, Hermione held it and the phial a few inches away from Snape's face, rotating it so he could check the liquid's consistency. She had to put the wand down for a second to wave one free hand back and forth across the narrow glass opening to spread its vapour.

Most students would place a phial directly beneath their noses to inhale the scent, instead of fanning it towards them the way they had all been taught in their first year. Snape was pleased to see that Hermione remembered that lesson and it was just as well; he had told his students that if they were to outright sniff anything and ended up passing out in his class, that they would have to revive themselves and make their own way to the hospital wing.

Snape hadn't meant it, but at least he never had any students falling unconscious in his class. While the execution of his message had come out sounding callous, its meaning was well-placed if not conventional.

"Very good, Miss Granger," Snape told her after deeming the beginnings of the potion to be suitable, closing his eyes again. "Carry on."

Hermione felt sweaty and sticky and uncomfortable, but there was nothing at that moment to make her complain. As far as she was concerned, her discomfort was menial compared to Severus'. Yes, her bare feet still throbbed and ached against the rough flagstones, and her hair had tripled in size from hovering over the steaming cauldron. But every time she looked over at Severus and saw his wraithlike form half-buried beneath the pile of obnoxiously bright purple bedding she'd conjured, it only forced her to stiffen her upper lip and carry on.

Making Wolfsbane was more difficult than she anticipated, although Severus' notes somewhat made things easier. It seemed that his scribblings were somewhat deviated from the original potion she once read about in third year, but if the ends justified the means, then who was she to second-guess? Snape obviously knew what he was doing, as the additions were written in his own hand. Besides, Lupin had been taking the potion all along, presumably without complications. Lupin himself told Harry that he was grateful for Snape brewing him the Wolfsbane, so clearly it was working for him.

_Harry, _Hermione practically snarled to herself. He was another one that had dodgy additions in that stupid Potions textbook that he refused to hand in. At least Hermione knew where the footnotes on the parchment for Wolfsbane had come from; Harry continued following directions to the letter in his book without knowing anything about them. Hermione knew for fact that Harry's extensive offhand knowledge about potions , draughts, and the like could fill a thimble. If anything, _he_ was the one that needed to err on the side of caution, not her.

_One black-haired wizard at a time, Hermione._ _You can fuss at Harry later, but for now you have more important things to worry about._

In the midst of stirring the potion, Hermione ventured another glance in Snape's direction. His eyebrows were knitted together, and he was frowning in his fitful sleep. Severus looked well and truly worn out, and Hermione felt foolish for only being able to make him comfortable on the floor. She had conjured up enough blankets and pillows for ten people, and she was sure that the professor was unable to feel the rigid floor beneath him, but his warm bed a few feet away from a burning hearth would have been a more suitable resting place.

The last thing Hermione wanted to do was wake Severus, as it was obvious that he needed all the rest he could get, but she needed him to examine the potion again. When it was finally finished, Snape stayed awake long enough to direct Hermione to pour the potion into a goblet, which he conjured with his wand.

"Well, at least that's done," she announced. "But how is Lupin going to get it? You're not exactly in a position to walk to the headmaster's office, and I definitely can't go."

"Neither of us will be going," Snape told her, pointing his wand at the goblet that had faint blue smokey curlicues rising from its mouth. The goblet glowed for a second and then disappeared. "Lupin's potion is now safely on Dumbledore's desk, and those two can sort it out. Lupin can drink it or piss in it for all I care, but my end of the bargain has been upheld."

As crude as Snape's comment was, Hermione fought back a laugh in spite of herself. Apparently finished with his mini rant, Snape had fallen silent again and was in the middle of dozing off when Hermione approached him.

"I notice that cat of yours isn't skulking about," he mumbled, his words distorted as his face was half buried into a pillow.

"Crookshanks didn't like the fumes of the Wolfsbane, so I let him out," Hermione explained, settling down next to the professor and crossing her legs. "Or maybe he was jealous of the attention I'm giving you. He's probably hunting for mice by now."

"Nothing like a midnight mouse when you need a little something, I suppose."

Hermione let out a titter; was Severus Snape joking with her? The world must be coming to an end.

"No wand, nothing on your feet, and barely dressed," Snape was now saying. "And alone, despite my many warnings. It's a wonder you made it down here with your head attached."

Hermione was unable to keep from pulling a face as she looked down at Snape. His eyes had been closed practically the entire time, and she didn't know that he had noticed her bare feet.

"Well I was sort of rushed out of the dormitories," she blithely replied, yanking the hem of her nightgown beneath her heels for warmth. "It's not as if my slippers or a robe were a priority. And I distinctly remember you calling my slippers ugly."

"Too right, Madam Warrior. Those slippers were positively dreadful," Snape drawled, "but better those ugly-arsed slippers than your bare feet against this damnably cold floor. And by the way, make sure if you find yourself going into battle, that you're prepared. I don't care if you have to stick it in your knickers or put it beneath your pillow, you keep your damned wand on hand at all times. No excuses."

Hermione knew it was pointless to argue as Severus was one-hundred and ten percent correct. However, she was unable to tell him so because soon as he finished his last sentence, he drifted off again.

There was nothing else to do besides watch over the man as he succumbed to a restless sleep. Shuffling to the right of Severus, Hermione pulled one of the pillows behind her and sank back onto it. That same silence she encountered on her initial trip down to the dungeons had returned, although Hermione felt less on edge with Snape lying next to her, even if he was barely conscious.

A few candles had sprung to life upon the two walking into the laboratory, and they threw off just enough light for Hermione to brew Lupin's potion. But now that she was on the floor, it was harder to see, although the tension in Snape's thin, pallid face was difficult to miss.

The fine tremors in his limbs had subsided, and Snape lie perfectly still, even as he seemed to be battling with some internal war as he slept. Hermione could barely fathom being unable to find peace, even once your eyes were closed. But with everything that happened to her thus far, she'd had her own share of bad dreams, ones that woke her up with a start, causing her heart to beat wildly and her body to sweat profusely.

Hermione thought it pointless to tell anyone about her dreams; what would they be able to do? Short of Obliviating herself, there was nothing that would take away the image of Sirius Black being killed before her eyes. And she would most definitely be unable to forget the cold, dangerously-glinting metal masks that the Death Eaters wore.

Hermione lost track of the amount of times she had been jolted awake when visions of those masks haunted unwaking hours. For a brief moment when she and her friends were in the Department of Mysteries, staring into the hardened eyes that peeked out of that Death Eater's mask, Hermione had been sure that she was going to die. To this day those masks were enough to set her blood to ice, and that was just a bit of metal. Needless to say, she was scared to imagine what had an experienced wizard like Severus in such a state of mental discord.

Looking at him again, Hermione focused on that deep line etched into his forehead that never really went away, and she longed to reach out and smooth it away with her fingertips. It wouldn't have made a difference in the long-run, as Snape was prone to frowning on a consistent basis. But is still didn't change the fact that she hated seeing him under such stress.

While her friends as well as most of her other classmates tended to chalk up Snape's sour disposition to him being an iniquitous bastard, Hermione knew better. No one behaved the way Snape did without having a reason to; besides, if she found herself living the way the professor did, then she too, would be grumpy.

Sliding further down on her pillow, Hermione began musing about what life would be like if she snapped at people the way Snape did.

_You already do, _she told herself.

_No, you don't snap, but you're terribly bossy. _

_So? My bossiness is justified. And besides, it's usually beneficial to two wizards that I refuse to think about right now._

On the verge of making herself laugh as she pictured herself curling her lip and baring her teeth like the professor when Ron and Harry asked for help with their homework, Hermione was literally thrown from her thoughts when Severus' solid hand suddenly flew out and caught her in the middle of her chest, striking hard enough to make her see spots.

Hermione was coughing and trying to catch her breath when Snape stirred out of his sleep, sitting up halfway when he heard her next to him.

"Granger?" he asked in a groggy voice.

Hermione knew that Severus hadn't meant to hit her; something had made him lash out in his sleep, and she only caught the brunt of his flying hand because of their close proximity. It was an accident and she wasn't cross, but, Merlin, the man had some heavy hands!

"I'm sorry I woke you," she rasped, gingerly running her fingertips across her aching sternum.

Snape shook his head and moved fully into an upright position. He roughly rubbed at his eyes before running a hand through his oily hair.

"Sorry," Snape said, apropos of nothing.

Hermione was a bit shocked; it was possible that Severus knew that he accidentally struck her, but she had the idea that there was more behind that single worded apology.

"I know you didn't have anything to do with the attack at the Weasleys," she offered after a few minutes, not knowing what else to say.

"Do you now?"

"Yes..."

"Most would be disinclined to agree with you."

"I'm not most people," Hermione pointed out.

"No...you're not," Snape agreed. He was now sat with his knees drawn up and his elbows resting on top, almost looking as if he was in deep thought. Hunched over and frowning at some spot on the blankets near his feet, it was almost as if Snape was considering hexing the bedding.

Even though the professor was silent, his shoulders were rigid enough to almost carry the weight of the world upon them, and his protective stance was warning enough for anyone to keep away, no matter if they were coming with the best of intentions. But that troubled look on his face made Hermione want to move closer; it made her want to hug him or take his hand in hers, while telling him that everything would be all right.

Such a trite and childish sentiment.

If someone bumped their knee or broke a drinking glass, that was a suitable time to tell them that it was all right. To do so now would be an insult as well as an outright lie, and Severus Snape was not a man that needed to be placated with empty promises and false platitudes. Besides seeing right through them, he would toss her out onto her ear for uttering such tripe.

Wracking her brain to come up with a way to move in closer without feeling like a complete idiot, Hermione gradually scooted sideways until her side was pressed against Snape's. He broke out of his reverie long enough to cast a sidelong glance at the witch. Hermione was pleased to notice that the line in his forehead was slightly less furrowed.

Figuring that her best bet would be to behave as if she needed him, instead of the other way around, Hermione let her weight fully settle against Snape, shortly after resting her head on his shoulder.

Unsure if her pence psychology was working, Hermione was shocked when Snape moved his arm down from his right knee to slip his hand into hers. For several minutes it seemed as if he forgot that quickly that they were holding hands, because it remained completely stationary within hers. A few more minutes passed before Hermione felt his callused thumb swirling over the back of her hand.

"If I had known about the attack at the Burrow, I would have tried my best to intervene," said Snape pensively. "Or at least I would have made sure that no one was home when it occurred.

"That dim-witted freckled friend of yours would most likely die from shock if he heard me say that, but I will admit to having respect for the Weasleys. I have no idea why there are so many of them, but they at least take care of their own. I could have done without Percy in my classes, though. The twins' antics were more bearable when compared to that pompous boy's attitude, not to mention that whiny voice."

Hermione snorted in laughter; there had been a time in her life where she was a bit in awe of Percy Weasley. He was a Head Boy, had stellar grades, and a promising career once he moved on from Hogwarts. Of course, she had the tunnel vision of an innocent eleven-year-old child at the time. It wasn't until she matured a bit that Hermione learned how annoying Percy's haughty streak was. Sometimes she listened to him droning on and on, and it sickened her to the point that she put forth the conscious effort to curtail her own pretentious behaviour.

"I think we've all wanted to cuff Percy round the ear at one point or another," Hermione murmured, slightly tightening her fingers over Snape's. "He would claim to be working whenever he visited the Burrow, but I think he was actually hiding from his brothers to avoid their teasing."

_And the jinxes, _Snape mentally added. He was tired of talking about the Weasleys, more concerned with making himself comfortable. His cloak and frock coat was still hanging onto his thin frame, and between that and the thick blankets, he had grown uncomfortably warm.

Pulling his hand out of Hermione's, he shifted out of both items and left his white shirt on. Hermione remained by his side, watching as he partially disrobed.

"Let me check your forehead again," she said once Snape had finished and was reclining next to her.

"I'm fine," he snapped, yanking his head back out of Hermione's reach. "I'm not a child, you don't need to keep fussing over me."

"Really, Severus," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "It'll only take me a minute—"

Hermione had just shifted half her weight onto Snape's lap and was forcing her hand upon his head when he jerked back again. His travelling cloak was still nearby, and Hermione accidentally caught it when she threw her hand down to break her fall. Snape, however, had easily caught her around the waist, but their combined efforts were forceful enough that Hermione yanked up the cloak into her hand, causing something to fall out of one of the pockets.

The item landed with a loud clatter on the stone floor, its appearance enough to give both Snape and Hermione pause.

Three inches from the thick purple blanket, lay Severus' Death Eater mask. Hermione had never seen it, not even when she assisted him after he returned from his meetings with the Dark Lord. She never really gave thought as to if he even owned one, but now the tangible proof was right there, a stone's throw away from her fingertips.

Unable to tear her eyes away from the cold, glittering metal, with its sinister face charmed onto the front, Hermione had to remind herself that Severus wasn't 'one of them', that the mask was only for show.

Deep in her heart, she truly believed that Severus was no Death Eater, but it still didn't help ward off the disturbing feelings that came from actually seeing his mask. There were oddly shaped slits in place of the mouth, and the metal around the eyeholes were darker than the rest. Swirling designs surrounded the edges, although it was hard to tell if they had been painted or charmed on. The mask was hauntingly beautiful, yet sinister at the same time, and it sent an ice-cold shiver down Hermione's spine.

When it became apparent that Hermione had been staring at it for too long, Snape withdrew his wand and pointed it at the mask, making it disappear and sending it someplace else.

Snape had almost forgotten about that odious thing that he'd stuck in the folds of his cloak. He typically only wore the mask, as the complete Death Eater ensemble was impractical for him as he travelled between Hogwarts and the meetings. But wearing the mask alone made him feel like a prisoner, trapped in a body that was being forced to do things he didn't want, even if it was just his face that was covered, and he always felt relieved when he was able to take it off.

He hadn't meant for Hermione to see it, ever, if he could help it. Now all of the colour had drained from her face, and it didn't return even after he'd vanished the mask.

The young witch looked as if she was about to become sick on herself. Snape half expected Hermione to get up without a word and leave his sorry arse alone in that room, and was surprised when instead, she slowly leaned back against his side without uttering a word. He was able to hear her thudding heart in the stark silence of the room, although there was a strong possibility that it was his heart causing such a ruckus.

It had been one thing for Hermione to have a vague idea of his double life. Up until then, the only proof of his second existence had been the battle scars and cuts that she helped to heal when he came crawling back. But his mask solidified his dark position, and to his utmost surprise, the young witch stayed put.

"Are you all right?"

Hermione didn't answer immediately, but she did nod her head after a while, as if she had to give a great amount of consideration to the question.

"I'll be fine, it's just..." she trailed off. "It doesn't matter; I should be asking if you're all right."

When Snape didn't answer, Hermione suspected that he was most likely giving her one of his trademark sneers; she couldn't see, as her head was pressed against his bicep.

She would have been surprised to find that Snape was not frowning or sneering. While the rest of his face wasn't terribly expressive, incredulity was definitely in his eyes as he stared down into to top of Hermione's messy curls covered head. After everything that happened that evening, to be subject to Hermione's unfailing kindness was nearly too much, as Snape felt that he truly did not deserve it. But it seemed that the young witch cared not a single whit about what happened, nor would she be put off.

The only thing Hermione seemed concerned with was getting him to lie down, which he eventually did when she gently steered him back onto the pile of squashy pillows.

For a split second, Snape nearly forgot that they were lying on a pile of blankets and pillows in the corny of his darkened laboratory. He nearly forgot that he was still Hermione'e teacher, and it was definitely harder to do away with the memories of everything that happened that evening. But for a brief moment in time, Snape closed his eyes and gave in to the feel of Hermione's soft, little fingers against his cheek.

Someone had once joked that Snape had features so sharp be could most likely cut them just by looking in their direction. He forgot which idiot had likened his gaunt cheekbones to that of a blade, but it had been enough for him to reply with a remark that ensured said person to never feel comfortable enough to make a comment like so again. After all, Snape knew what he looked like; he had no reason to listen to anyone's insipid metaphors. He had never been a handsome wizard, or a pretty boy, and he never would be.

Besides, last he checked, looks were never a person's saving grace.

Snape had encountered all sorts of attractive witches and wizards, notwithstanding blood status, and some of them had been so thick-headed that he was sure they needed a torch and a map just to find their own arsehole, even while standing in the bright of day.

But stupid was something that Snape could safely say he was not. He learned from an early age that he was what most people considered unattractive. While that realisation had stung at first, it didn't take long for him to figure out that most people were imbeciles, and he had no reason to bend to their ideals of what was acceptable or not.

Even his own father, Tobias Snape, outright told his son that he was stupid and ugly.

Severus had been about eight or nine at the time, and while he might have conceded to the ugly part, he refused to believe that he was stupid. His mum's skills as a witch had been more than adequate, and whenever her husband wasn't around, she taught her son all she knew. Other times, Severus ensconced himself in his dingy little bedroom, keeping his head buried in a book as he tried to drown out the sound of his parents arguing. Ever since he could remember, books had been his only friend, the only thing he'd been able to truly lose himself in. Books were the only thing that kept him marginally sane until he was old enough to go to Hogwarts.

Hogwarts had been another bone of contention for Tobias; the man had groused and complained that the boy should just go onto secondary school, and stay on until he was old enough to find a job. Tobias wasn't bothered enough to want his son to attempt O levels, let along A levels. However, that had been the one time where Severus' mum, Eileen, had firmly put her foot down to tell her husband that her son would be attending Hogwarts whether he liked it or not.

Severus suspected that his mother paid for that comment in spades once he was off at school, but he never forgot the way the woman he strongly resembled stood up to the man that he disliked for most of his life.

He had been grateful; it was never his intention to leave school at a young age and begin working in the mills or the like, only to become a weary, broken-bodied man before he reached forty. Most of the young men in his neighbourhood that left school early to work, ended up working like mules for the rest of their lives. They often married early, some purely because they hadn't been careful enough, and then came the litter of children.

The last thing Severus wanted was to remain in that grimy little town, working his fingers to the bone only to have enough money for a pint at the end of the day.

_Irony_; _thy name is Severus Snape._

He still hadn't reached forty, and he ended up working his fingers to the bone anyway. And while his job wasn't arduous in the way that grueling hand labour was, it left Snape feeling as if he were much older.

When he was bothered enough to give thought to his hair, Snape found himself just a tad amazed that it was still the same shade of shocking black that it had been since birth. People claimed that stress made greys pop out and soon enough take over your head the way weeds did to a flower garden. If that was the case, his hair should have put Dumbledore's to shame. But no, there wasn't an excuse of grey or even white threaded throughout his lank black strands.

Lank black strands that were now being stroked by a dainty, languidly moving hand.

Snape was lying on his side, and Hermione had her chest to his back. At some point she had pulled one of the heavy blankets over them, and had taken to playing with the hair at the back of his head. The warm breath of Hermione's steady breathing tickled his ear and neck, and the sensation was oddly comforting.

"Sometimes I feel as if I barely know you, but then there's something that makes me not care," Hermione was now telling him. "Does that sound mad?"

Snape gave a wry laugh; Hermione had a better measure of him that most people, even if in just a basic sense. He would have attributed her unclouded judgment to her age, but Snape would say that Hermione wasn't the sort of witch prone to the typical flights of fancy that was usually hand-in-hand with youth.

While at times she gave into her feelings, Hermione was level-headed for the most part, not to mention analytical and calculating. She reminded Snape of himself in that aspect; ready to analyse something down to the smallest atom to try and make sense of it. Sometimes he had passed her in the library, and she had been so lost in thought that he had been tempted to walk up behind her and whisper into her ear that she would give herself an aneurysm from thinking so hard.

"If you were another person, then I would say yes," Snape answered. _But if you were another person, then we wouldn't be here._

"That wasn't a covert invitation to get you to pour your heart out or anything," Hermione laughed. "I'm more speaking of the little things that I don't know. Like your birthday, for example. I wouldn't know when to say 'happy birthday' to you."

"I assure you, I would not fall to pieces if you hadn't."

_Sourpuss, _Hermione thought. "Well, when is it? When is your birthday?"

At first, Snape wasn't sure if he wanted to divulge that bit about himself, but then Hermione began caressing the underside of his jaw, ignoring the bit of scruff that was surely scratching her fingertips. The sleeve of her nightgown had been pushed up, baring her wrist, and he was able to smell a lingering trace of something faintly sweet, most likely a skin cream that she had put on after her evening bath.

But it was hard to remain closemouthed, not if it meant risking putting a stop on the soft fingers stroking the side of his neck.

"Well?" she asked again.

"January ninth."

The stroking fingers stopped anyway, and Snape caught himself on the brink of complaining. Hermione then sat up, paused for a moment, and carefully clambered beneath the blankets and over onto his side so they were facing.

"Are you serious?"

"Do I appear to be joking, Miss Granger?"

"Hermione. And today's the ninth," she huffed. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

Snape's eyes had been closed the entire time, but he opened them long enough to narrow them at Hermione.

"Well, I was otherwise engaged, if you don't remember. Besides, what was there to mention? It's just another day."

Hermione slowly shook her head as if she could scarcely believe what she was hearing. Yes, the professor had more pressing things in his life, but to say that his birthday was just another day was perplexing. She barely had been able to celebrate her own, as it fell right after the start of the school term, but even so, there had still been presents at the foot of her bed in the morning, and parcels sent by owls at breakfast.

"I cannot believe you're being so nonchalant about this," she mused. "Your birthday is _not_ 'just another day'."

"To me it is, as well as everyone else," Snape replied. "But if it means that much to you, you can begin celebrating by lying back down and being quiet."

"You know, most people would ask for some sweets or a new gadget for their birthday; only you would request the gift of silence," Hermione said as she slithered down next to him.

"It's the gift that keeps on giving," the professor shot back, lifting one hand to loop a few of Hermione's unruly curls around his index finger. "Next year, for my birthday and yours, I think a request of some hair grips wouldn't go amiss. You'd need two birthdays' worth just to conquer this hair of yours."

Laughing as she moved closer until her lips were nearly grazing the front of Snape's shirt, Hermione sighed when he pulled the blanket back over them. Settling into an awkward tangle of limbs, as Snape still wore his trousers and Hermione in her long, thick nightgown, two two finally found a comfortable position that left their arms draped across one another.

Taking heed of his earlier instructions to be quiet, Hermione stroked Severus' back through his shirt, running her fingertips over the protruding ridges at the top of his spine. His arm was loosely curved over her waist, although the heat of his now warmed skin was palpable through her nightgown.

It was hard to not think about them being pressed together sans the barrier of their clothing. While Hermione immensely enjoyed that level of intimacy, right now she found that she was just as content to quietly lie wrapped up in Severus' arms.

His thumb had been rubbing uneven circles onto her thickly-clothed hip, and the circles soon stopped as he drifted off to sleep. But right before his hand went still, Hermione was pleased to note the way Severus slightly burrowed his nose into her hair, inhaling deeply as if it pleased him.

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:)


	29. Chapter 29

**_A/N: I was going to do the author's note at the bottom but I'll do it here. Okay, for starters I'm back at work, which is cutting into my writing time! I'm not too pleased about that but until I strike it rich I have to work. *sigh* Nearly 7k done in one day, and I'm sitting here wondering how I pulled that off. I still owe replies to reviews back from chapter 26 and I am SO SORRY please don't hate me! I never want anyone to feel that I'm ignoring them because I'm NOT, but this stupid wrist sometimes doesn't want to cooperate which equates to me not being able to do anything with it for hours on end. _**

**_But enough of my drama. Thank you again for the reviews, alerts, favorites, pms, and I will reply to them because I enjoy doing so. I took a bit of creative licensing with this chapter soo..well, you'll see. So you've been warned that something isn't chronologically in order although I don't think it will matter much. There's also a bit of a lemon at the end so enjoy if you enjoy that sort of thing ;). _**

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Snape frowned in his sleep at the feel of something pressing on the bridge of his nose, sending a dull pain shooting throughout his head. Grunting as he turned to avoid the source of pain, he found that he was lying on top of Hermione with most of his lower body sandwiched between her legs. His nose had been nearly flattened against her sternum, and the sensation was sharp enough that it prodded him out of sleep. It was a wonder the witch beneath him didn't wake up.

Wondering how the hell he ended up draped over Hermione, Snape dimly remembered the few times where his body jerked in the midst of slumber. The first time Hermione hadn't noticed, as she'd been curled onto her side with the blankets wrapped around her. The second, she'd been somewhat pressed against his side and the movement woke her up.

Snape hadn't been completely awake but the feel of gentle hands on his face had been comforting, and eventually they moved to his shoulders and coaxed him to turn completely over. Those hands had then slowly run through his hair and over the back of his neck, kneading some of the tension out of the taut, knotted muscles.

For hours they lie on that crude pallet in the corner of the nearly pitch dark classroom. Hermione kept both arms around the wizard even as she slept. Snape meant to move his person, figuring that he was crushing Hermione into the floor, but the feel of her soft, nightgown covered breasts against his head was divine, and her chest turned out to be quite a cosy spot on which to sleep, even if the lacy cuff of her sleeping garment was scratchy on his ear. Besides, his head still felt thick and heavy from earlier, and he had neither the energy nor inclination to shift so much as one inch.

Unable to fall right back asleep, Snape began rehashing everything that occurred within the past twenty-four hours. At least today was Saturday, and there were no classes to teach. Also, the headmaster knew it was his birthday, and while Snape abhorred any sort of fripperies surrounding the day, he was usually left in relative peace. He had been blessedly unscheduled from chaperoning duty for the weekend trip to Hogsmeade. The thought of not having to herd around a group of bawdy, hormonal, ratfink children would have made him smile, just a bit, had his face not been buried into Hermione's chest.

The first order of business, however, entailed tearing himself away from the soft comfort of the young witch's body, waking her up and sending her back to Gryffindor tower.

Soon as he thought about waking Hermione up, her breath faltered and she thrashed slightly. It wasn't enough to rouse her completely, but her hands tightened around his neck and her breathing steadied back within seconds once she retained her grasp on him.

A few hours prior, the young witch had yelled at him; now she was clutching onto him like a small child with their cuddly toy.

Figuring that it couldn't hurt to lie for a few minutes longer, Snape found himself becoming focused on and then relaxed by the sound of Hermione's breathing. He hadn't lied when he previously told her that she was prone to snoring...although that was usually after they had been naked and going at it for a few hours. Despite being in the throes of deep slumber she wasn't snoring now, and Snape was almost bereft that he hadn't been able to give her a reason for not doing so.

Resolving once more to get up and restore order to his laboratory, Snape had just shifted his weight when Hermione's arms tightened around his neck again, pulling him right back against her.

"Severus..." she trailed off in a sleepy tone.

Stymied that Hermione was calling his name in the midst of unconsciousness, Snape waited until she had settled down before gently extricating his body from her grasp. Thankfully she didn't wake up, instead immediately rolled over onto her side and curling into a ball when the blankets were drawn up to her shoulders.

Shuffling to get to his feet, Snape grabbed hold of the edge of the work table to steady himself. He still felt battered and bruised, and would have liked nothing more than to crawl back beneath the blankets and remain next to Hermione. But life had to go on, and with that unsavoury notion beating him over the head, Snape retrieved his clothing and dressed slowly.

It took him a few minutes to successfully rouse Hermione out of her sleep. When she opened her eyes, she looked dazed for a minute, as if she had forgotten where she was.

"What's wrong?" she murmured, becoming a bit more lucid when she saw Snape next to her, fully dressed and resting one hand on the blankets covering her hip.

"Nothing," he replied, "but you need to return to your dormitory."

Hermione wanted to tell Snape to lie back down with her, but deemed it pointless seeing as he was already dressed. With a wide yawn she pushed the covers back, shivering when she became exposed to the cool air.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm still here," Snape answered curtly. "Thank you."

Hermione thought professor looked as if he could crawl beneath a bed to get more rest, and she wanted to ask what sort of answer ''I'm still here" was, but refrained from doing so. The thought of heading back to Gryffindor tower was only slightly tempting as she thought about the large heater in the middle of the floor. She would have preferred to stay with Severus but apparently that was out of the question. It really was cold in the dungeon classroom, though, and she felt even colder as she watched Snape flick his wand at the pile of pillows and blankets to vanish them. Just as she was dreading the walk back throughout the castle in her bare feet and nightgown, Snape conjured her fuzzy slippers, the very ones he considered ugly, as well as her robe.

"Now put those on so you can take your leave," he directed.

Highly aware of the black eyes watching her as she dressed, Hermione shoved both feet into her slippers while stuffing both arms at the same time into her robe.

"That's better, thank you," she said, hurriedly tying the robe's sash around her waist. "I feel like Jack Frost is blowing on the back of my neck."

"All the more reason for you to get back to your bed," Snape pointed out, using his wand to extinguish the candles in the room and opening the door to step out into the corridor. Hermione noticed that he didn't make one of his usual banging exits, opting to quietly move about in the dark.

Hermione was just about to follow behind the professor when she stopped short. "Severus?" she asked, placing one hand on his arm. Snape paused and turned to look at her expectantly. "Can I see you later...tonight? I just thought maybe it would be nice to see you since it's your birthday," Hermione quickly added when it seemed as if he was about to tell her no.

"I assure you, me turning another year older is no cause for celebration or the like," he replied. "However, in an effort to keep you from skulking about on your own, I will come to find you."

"How will you know where to look?" Hermione asked, furrowing her brow.

Snape gave her a half-smile. "I always know where to look. Now, take your familiar and come along."

Hermione was just about to ask why Snape was mentioning Crookshanks when she felt something furry sliding against her ankles. "Crooks! Were you waiting for me?" she asked, bending down to pick up the half-kneazle.

It didn't take long to walk across the castle and back to Gryffindor tower. With Snape guiding her, Hermione managed to avoid the crotchety caretaker as well as the nosy portraits. The professor walked until Hermione was at what he deemed a safe distance, before turning on his heel and disappearing around the corner.

* * *

"Ron! Will you hurry up, please? It's freezing and my toes are going numb," Hermione fussed, hopping from one foot to another in a vain attempt to get warm.

Ron, Harry and Hermione were in Hogsmeade for the outing that Saturday. After wrapping up in thick coats, hats and scarves, they trudged through the cold, slushy grounds of High Street, eager to get out of the blustery, whipping wind. Ron had paused to peer in through a shop window, pressing his nose against the glass to get a better look. Snow was falling into Harry and Hermione's eyes and they didn't' t bother to see what had captured Ron's attention, as they were both clamoring to get out of the cold and into someplace warm.

"All right, keep your hair on," said Ron, prying himself away from whatever he was looking at. "Are we going for a butterbeer, then?"

"Yeah, if you hurry up!" Harry told him.

Hermione had grown tired of waiting for her friends and hightailed it across the street to dash into the Three Broomsticks. She was just in the middle of pulling off her snow-dotted hat and coat when Ron and Harry walked in behind her.

"Sorry, but I really am cold and you took too long," she continued, sitting down and blowing into her hands to get the blood circulating. "Shall I go and order our drinks?"

Ron was in the middle of pulling his own outerwear off when something obviously caught his eye, as he almost left one jacket sleeve completely on.

"No...I'll go," he offered in a strange tone without looking at either of his friends.

Harry frowned and twisted round in his seat to see what the cause was for the change in his Ron's pitch. "Ah, I bet you will," he sniggered upon seeing the curvy figure of Madam Rosmerta, the pub's owner, leaning across the bar to talk to a customer, a short, wizened wizard with an odd-shaped purple hat. He was doing more talking with his hands but his piggy little eyes were obviously glued to the front of her slightly low-cut robes.

"Shut up!" Ron hissed before dashing in the direction of the bar.

"He's lucky Lavender isn't here," Harry laughed, craning his neck round once more. Ron had sauntered over and was now leaning against the wooden bar, fervently trying to gain Madam Rosmerta's attention while attempting to remain cool. "She'd pitch a fit if she saw Ron going on like that."

Hermione rolled her eyes, thinking about the way Lavender's penchant for theatrics. "Suppose you're right," she agreed, " but I wish Ron would put away his libido for a minute and bring my butterbeer!" Shaking her head, she and Harry both turned around. "Is Ginny meeting you later?"

"Maybe," Harry replied. "If not, I'll see her back at the school. She and Neville went to help Luna do...something. I don't really remember."

"Let me guess, an elusive search for one of her creatures?"

"I suppose so," Harry laughed. "All I know is Luna promised to treat Ginny and Neville to butterbeers if they helped her, but I think they would have helped her even without the offer."

Nodding in agreement, Hermione arched one eyebrow when Ron practically ran back over to the table, looking flustered as he set down their butterbeers.

"What's up with you?" Harry asked, catching sight of the red creeping into Ron's ears.

Ron flopped down into his seat, snatched a butterbeer towards him and began noisily slurping the foam off the top, while surreptitiously glancing over at the bar.

"Well?"

Ron mumbled something into his butterbeer, his voice so low that Harry had to ask him to repeat himself.

"I said...she wouldn't laugh at my joke!"

The effort it took for Hermione not to laugh at the bereft look on Ron's face was Herculean. He looked as if someone had taken all of his Christmases, kicked his puppy, pulled his hair, and then forced him to sit on the naughty step as if everything gone wrong in the world was his fault.

"Don't you laugh at me," he grumbled at Harry, who was making no moves to hide his amusement.

"Well, I'm not the one sulking like a four-year-old who had their toys taken away," Harry told him. "And besides, your girlfriend is coming over, so you'd better straighten your face."

"What?" Ron asked, his blue eyes going wide with horror.

"Ron!" uttered the shrill voice of Lavender Brown.

_No Won-Won? _Hermione cackled to herself.

Ron pretended to be utterly enthralled by his butterbeer, and pasted on a fake smile when he turned to look up at the blonde. "Hi, Lavender. What brings you round?"

"So you don't even notice your own _girlfriend_ because you're too busy flirting with another woman, is that it?" she began, looking highly displeased as she crossed both arms across her fuzzy-pink jumper covered chest. She then moved one hand to her hip, the assortment of bracelets on her wrist clacking together loud enough to make her sound like an bizarre one-witch symphony.

Harry and Hermione were looking anywhere but at the couple, the blonde, jangling bracelet half of which who looked as if she was about to spit flames, and Ron, who looked as if he were about to be led to the gallows.

"I was sitting in the corner with Parvati. We tried waving but apparently you were too busy to bother with looking over!"

_It really is a wonder we didn't hear you with your ten pounds of bracelets, _Hermione thought, soon losing patience with Lavender's shrill voice going over her head. "Err, Harry, walk me to the loo?" she asked after she had hastily taken the last gulp of her butterbeer.

"What, can't you go on your own?"

_Are you being deliberately thick-headed? _Hermione wondered as she swiftly kicked him beneath the table.

"Yeah, sure," he hastily amended, fighting back a grimace as her kick was enough to deliver the hint.

The two got up from their chairs and hurried in the other direction, leaving behind the arguing couple. Actually, Ron was sitting quietly and Lavender was rambling on, both of whom were drawing a bit of attention from other students also in the Three Broomsticks.

"Ugh, I just needed to get away from her," said Hermione once they were out of earshot. "I like Lavender, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I don't feel like hearing her whine."

"You're right; let's leave that to Ron," said Harry. "Sorry about that, I honestly thought that you needed me to escort you to the loo. I was about to tell you that I'm sure you're safe from Moaning Myrtle haunting the plumbing here."

"You nearly got pinched for being daft, but you were too far away from me," Hermione brusquely told him. "Oh, but now I really do need to go. I'll be right back."

Harry looked a bit uncomfortable at Hermione telling him that she needed to visit the lavatory, but he dutifully walked her upstairs and waited in the narrow hallway. The lavatory was occupied but Hermione only had to wait a minute before the door opened to reveal one of her classmates, Katie Bell.

"Hi, Katie," Hermione told her as they passed one another.

Katie vaguely looked up at Hermione but didn't answer. She was clutching both arms to her chest as she brushed past to get to the rickety wooden staircase.

"Right," said Hermione under her breath.

Five minutes later Hermione felt much more relieved and reconvened with a very put-out looking Harry in the hallway.

"What's wrong?"

"Two words: Draco Malfoy," Harry spat, holding onto the banister and peering down at the crowded pub floor.

"Did he say anything to you?"

"Oh, the usual. He insulted me with his usual sharp wit before going on his way."

"Never mind him," Hermione told Harry. "Let's go rescue Ron before Lavender turns him into a toad and keeps him in a cage for Transfiguration practice."

Surprisingly enough, when they got back to the table, they found Lavender in the middle of kissing Ron on the cheek. She then walked back over to Parvati with a much more agreeable look on her face.

"Should I even ask what you said to her?" Hermione asked, causing Ron to look sheepish.

"Hmm, better not."

Feeling a bit lighter after a second round of butterbeers, the three managed to avoid another kerfuffle before leaving the pub. Ron forgot about Madam Rosmerta and his row with Lavender, and was now joking around with Harry as they stepped back out into the snowy village. They were halfway to Hogwarts when Katie and her best friend, Leanne, were seen off in the distance.

"I saw Katie back in the pub," Hermione remarked. "I said hi to her and she acted as if she barely noticed me."

"Maybe she's having an off day," Ron suggested. "You girls are strange; there's no accounting for half the things you lot do."

Hermione scowled at Ron and was about to give him a scathing reply when a blood-curdling scream was heard from both girls ahead.

Running awkwardly through the snow, the three encountered a babbling Leanne who was frozen in place and in a state of shocked as she stared up at her best friend, who was hovering high in the air as if held by invisible strings. Katie was then violently jerked and pulled along and the sight was horrifying, especially since the other four on the ground were unable to do anything.

Finally Katie descended back onto the pristine, snow covered ground and lie there, eyes wide and unseeing and her limbs twitching. A trembling Leanne and shaken Hermione were about to walk over to Katie when Hagrid appeared out of nowhere, and yelled for them to not touch her.

When Leann pointed to something that Katie had been carrying, which turned out to be an opal necklace that was also lying in the snow a few feet away from them, Hagrid instructed Harry on how to pick it up.

By then, Hagrid had scooped a now unconscious Katie up into his massive arms, and he led the rest of the students back to Hogwarts, all of them walking in an almost funereal procession.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione didn't speak much as they went to the Gryffindor common room. They had barely gotten their coats and hats off when another student came in to deliver the message that McGonagall wanted to see them in her office.

"Oh damn, here we go," Ron muttered.

Leanne was still crying when they encountered her walking out of McGonagall's office. The Head of House surveyed her students with a grim countenance when they made their way inside.

"I long for the day that something happens and you three aren't involved," she managed to get out, despite her mouth being set in a firm line.

"You and me, both," Ron grumbled under his breath.

"Well?" she said sharply. "What happened?"

The three took turns explaining what they saw when Snape swept into the room in a flourish of black robes. Hermione hadn't expected him to show up and felt her heart beat just a bit faster, and had to bite the inside of her cheek to remain impassive. While it was true that she and her friends were standing before both professors under undesirable circumstances, Hermione was still unable to thwart her body's reaction to Snape's presence.

He barely looked at the three, too busy with examining the necklace on McGonagall's he finally proclaimed to be cursed. When Snape said that Katie was lucky to be alive, Hermione felt her blood go cold. She didn't think it was that easy to gain hold of cursed items, and it was highly unlikely that there was a student who knew enough advanced Dark Magic to place a curse on an object themselves. Still, the entire situation hit too close to home and Hermione found herself growing fearful.

But then Harry had to open his mouth and cast blame to Malfoy, and Hermione had to admit that idea seemed slightly outrageous.

Snape rounded on Harry so fast that Hermione nearly felt her own head spin. McGonagall even looked shocked to hear the accusation. Harry seemed to forget that the Head of Slytherin House was standing right there, because he continued telling McGonagall about Draco's trip to Borgin and Burkes right before the start of school.

It was one thing to be dressed down by either professor, but to have them standing together and glaring at you was another thing. Even though McGonagall and Snape were looking at Harry, Hermione still felt her own stomach knotting up with tension.

_Idiot!_ Hermione screamed inwardly for Harry's loose tongue.

Hot-headed as ever, Harry was adamant about Draco somehow giving the cursed necklace to Leanne. McGonagall quickly nipped that theory in the bud, claiming that Malfoy was with her that afternoon, serving detention to make up his Transfiguration homework.

Hermione snuck a glance at Snape, whose lip was curled in a slight sneer, perhaps because he was peeved at another teacher punishing a student from his House. Or he could have been irritated by Harry imploring that everything was Malfoy's fault. Either way, he was staring so dispassionately at her black-haired best friend that her own knees nearly knocked together.

Snape had advanced on Harry, his tall black-robed form towering of his, referring to the younger wizard in a sinisterly smooth voice as 'The Chosen One', and the two stood in a sort of stare-off until McGonagall sent them all back to their dormitories.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed, walking briskly to try and keep up with Harry. "You can't go around accusing people like that, are you mad?"

"Hermione, spare me the lecture, all right?" he angrily replied. "I know what I saw, and I definitely saw Draco Malfoy in The Three Broomsticks today, unless it was some other pompous, self-centered blond wizard that called me the chosen—well, I'll leave the next word out—before flipping me the finger."

"Still, mate, Hermione's right," Ron chimed in. "I don't think it was smart to mention all that in front of Snape. For all you know, he can go back and tell Malfoy."

"Well, maybe Snape needs to know that one of his precious Slytherins are trying to kill off other students!" Harry snapped. "Fine, then," he noisily exhaled. "How else do you think Katie got the necklace?"

"I have no idea, but when I went in the bathroom at the pub, there was no one else inside," said Hermione.

Harry refused to listen to anything either Ron or Hermione had to say, and they listened to him continue to postulate theories as they climbed one of the moving staircases, gripping the banister when it suddenly shifted from one wall to move to the next.

Snape wasn't an idiot; he knew from first glance at the cursed Katie Bell, whom had to be sedated upon arriving to the hospital wing, that Draco Malfoy had something to do with it.

Filch had been the one to summon him. The caretaker had thrusted the scarf-wrapped necklace in his direction, grumbling about not being able to check it with his Secrecy Sensor, then rasping out that McGonagall needed him in her office.

The young Gryffindor had been eerily silent as the curse was lifted from her body. After enough had been done for Madam Pomfrey to take over, Snape hurried back down to the dungeons, nearly wearing holes in the flagstones with his brisk canter. It didn't take him long to find Draco in the common room, his head in Pansy Parkinson's lap while his simple-minded cronies sat nearby.

The look on Snape's face had been warning enough for Draco to get up and follow him, even though he was feigning ignorance as to why he was being summoned. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy all looked shocked at seeing their Head of House, and bowed their heads to avoid his gaze. Draco's thespian attempts, however, were amateur at best; Snape saw right through his act of supposed innocence.

"Stay there, and so help me if you move," Snape ordered coldly after shoving Draco into his office and slamming the door shut.

The problem with dealing with hot-blooded, young wizards was they thought they knew everything, they believed everyone to be dim-witted. If Malfoy and Potter knew how much they were alike in that aspect, they would have had two coronaries apiece.

Now Snape was left to sort out another fine mess that Draco managed to land himself in, all the while trying to keep Potter from sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

He was surprised that the brash Gryffindor even made mention of Draco going into Borgin and Burkes, yet he filed that tidbit of information away for later use. It was impossible for Snape to know each and every one of Draco's moves, but the inexperienced wizard was sloppy in each of his attempts at secret plotting and it made his job easier. But the fact that he nearly killed another student could not be ignored, and Snape awaited a sound verbal-lashing from the headmaster, among other things.

Snape still thought it terribly nervy of Potter to suggest that Malfoy was to blame, especially seeing as he had no concrete proof. Apparently his friends thought him mad as well, as the abashed looks on Weasley and Granger's face hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Tell me, Draco," Snape began when he returned to his office. The blond was sitting in the chair opposite his desk with a pinched look on his face. "Is expulsion on your list of tasks to carry out? Or perhaps it is your intent to join your father in Azkaban?"

Draco immediately jumped up out of his seat at the mention of his father.

"How dare you?!" he seethed, his grey eyes nearly burning with hatred as he stared into the cooler, yet just as icy visage of his Head of House. "How dare you even mention him!"

"You listen, and listen _well_," Snape continued in a tight voice. "You can cast blame at me all you like for your father being sent to prison. I assure you, I can withstand that much. You can scream from the rooftops that I want his position—I truly do not give a damn. But you better damn well get yourself sorted, Draco."

"I don't know why _you_ assume that I did anything in the first place! Maybe you should ask Saint Potter and his pet Mudblood; they were sucking face when I saw them earlier."

"Ah. Funny how I never mentioned you doing anything in the first place. I just told you to stay in my office. Is there something you would like to tell me?"

Draco's face turned an ugly shade of red when he realised that he had been caught, yet he remained silent.

_Amateurs, reckless amateurs. Rule one: Never try to out-Slytherin a Slytherin, especially one that is vastly more experienced than you, _Snape thought derisively.

"Either you can let me assist you, or you can continue placing faith in those two idiots you call friends," Snape went on. "But rest assured, the latter opinion will see that you swiftly meet your downfall. And once you're beneath the Dark Lord's wand, flimsy excuses will not keep him from using _Crucio_ on you while your mother stands by and bears witness. Narcissa won't be able to save you, nor will I."

Those words seemed to have some effect on Malfoy, because abject terror registered across his face. Deeming his job done, Snape told the boy to get out of his sight, and Draco nearly tipped over the sturdy chair in his haste to get out of the professor's office.

Hours before his day went to shite, everything had been relatively peaceful after escorting Hermione to her room early that morning. It had been pointless to think that it would carry on, but even so, Snape planned on remaining in his rooms the entire weekend, perhaps only venturing out for dinner the next day. But it had been too much to hope for even a full day of silence, where he wouldn't be beckoned for one reason or another. He hadn't forgotten about Hermione asking if she could see him later that night, and he at least had that to look forward to.

The last thing he planned on was tending to a student that had been cursed, something Snape was sure hadn't been part of Draco's cocked-up plan that had been destined for failure from the start.

* * *

Harry was still a bit put out with Ron and Hermione long after they were in their common room. Ginny had returned from her outing with Luna and Neville, and the two went off to be alone. Ron didn't even bother with trying to follow them, not that it would have mattered as Lavender's widely grinning face showed up, and she grabbed Ron by the hand and dragged him off to some other part of the castle.

Hermione didn't mind being left behind as there was always reading for her to catch up on. After a few minutes of curling up in the good armchair by the fire and settling down with a book, Crookshanks sauntered in and settled at her feet.

The rest of the day passed by uneventfully. Hermione wondered how Katie was faring in the hospital wing, but knew that it would pointless to ask McGonagall as the professor would most likely refuse to divulge any information.

Going down to dinner alone, as none of her friends had yet returned to the common room, Hermione made quick work of eating as she wanted to have first dibs on the prefects' bathroom. Ron and Lavender were walking in the Great Hall when Hermione was on her way out. They appeared to still be on good terms and weren't in the middle of another row, and Lavender was still all smiles as she waved to Hermione.

Harry and Ginny also happened to be halfway down the corridor when Hermione saw them walking towards her.

"Harry!" Hermione called, rushing over to him when she was struck by a sudden idea. Peeking at his face to see if he was still cross, Hermione noticed that he was in a better mood and reminded herself to thank Ginny later. "Can I borrow your map again?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied. "But it's in my trunk in the dormitory. Should I even ask what for this time?"

"If you want, but it's for the usual reason," Hermione answered nonchalantly.

"The map is yours, seeing how well you took care of it over the holiday," Harry smiled. "Have fun sneaking into the library."

Thanking Harry and dashing off, Hermione hurried back up to Gryffindor tower to grab everything she needed. All day she wondered how Snape was going to approach her, but then she did her best to put it out of her mind. It was hard enough to predict his actions, and Hermione was secure enough to know that she was nowhere near his league to try and do so.

Once she was bathed and in a clean set of clothes, not her nightgown as it would have looked odd for her to be traipsing around on sleepwear in the instance she was caught, Hermione made her way down to the kitchens. Dobby was happy to see her again and tried to give Hermione more food than she asked for. When tears began shining in his golf ball-sized eyes at her refusal, she let the house-elf give her as much as he wanted.

"What am I going to do with all this?" Hermione asked herself, letting out a mixture of a laugh and a grimace as she felt the food-laden basket weighing down her arm.

Pausing to set the heavy basket at her feet, Hermione pulled the Marauder's Map out of her back pocket and used her wand to illuminate it. Snape's dot was on the first floor, although he appeared to be on the move. Figuring that she could try and meet him halfway, perhaps making it look like coincidence, Hermione put out her wand and stowed the map in her pocket. She had just picked her basket up and took all of three steps when something flew at her out of the dark, shoving her hard against the wall and causing her to drop her basket.

"Ow! What the—"

"Shut up, you filthy little Mudblood!" hissed a harsh voice that could only belong to Draco Malfoy.

"Get away from me, Malfoy!" Hermione ordered through clenched teeth, lifting one hand and shoving at his solid chest.

"I don't think so, Granger," he spat, leaning in close enough until Hermione could see the icy glint in his grey eyes. "I thought you were smart, but apparently I was wrong. No matter, then. You just make sure to tell your little boyfriend to keep his mouth shut!"

Several thoughts began running through Hermione's mind at that point. Harry had most likely in fact seen Draco earlier that day at The Three Broomsticks, and Draco most likely had something to do with Katie Bell being cursed. Else why would he have her shoved against the wall and issuing threats?

"I won't tell you again, Ferret," Hermione snapped, creeping one hand to her pocket. Draco hadn't expected her to whip her wand out in a flash and press it into his throat. _"Leave me alone, _or I'll hex your bits off!"

Whether it was out of bravery or foolishness, Hermione wasn't sure, but whichever it was it made Draco also withdraw his wand and aim it at her chest.

"I believe you heard what I said," he continued as if her wand wasn't at this throat. "You tell _Potter_ to stay out of my business and keep my name out of his mouth, unless he wants to be blamed for another mishap."

A broken feline cry suddenly interrupted their spat, and Mrs. Norris came around the corner and loudly hissed at the two. Shortly after, the shuffling of Mr. Filch's feet were heard, and the grumpy caretaker stumbled over.

"What is this? What is this?! Wands out! Wands out in the corridor!" he immediately shouted in a croaky voice, a sinister grin twisting the deep creases in his face. "It'll be detention for you both!"

"What? But I was minding my business when _she _accosted me!" Draco fumed, causing Hermione to scoff loudly.

"Oh, that's rich!" she snapped at him, lowering her wand and tucking it into her pocket.

"You shut your mouth, Mudblood!" Draco shouted in her face because turning back to Filch. "And you, you dirty Squib! Why don't you made yourself useful and find Professor Snape so he can give this _thing_ detention!"

Filch nearly forgot about Hermione, even though they both began yelling at Draco for his epithets, when a deeper voice cut across them all and effectively put an end to their bickering.

"Is there a problem?" said the unpleasant voice of Severus Snape. The three paused and looked up to find him standing there, waiting for an answer.

"Professor, I found these rowing with their wands out in the corridor," Filch explained. "Surely they both need punishment! I even have the chains ready in my of—"

"Thank you, Filch, I will handle it," Snape told him curtly, excusing the caretaker in so many words. "Miss Granger, you know the rules: no wands out in the corridor. I think a few weekends of detention will help you to mull it over. And Mister Malfoy, I believe you are supposed to be in your dormitory. Kindly see that you return to it now."

Hermione was so incensed at the injustice of it all that she never noticed when Draco called her another nasty name under his breath before swaggering off in the direction of the Slytherin dormitories. Feeling angrier than a wet hen, Hermione had to force herself to keep her temper from flailing out of check. Why should she have to serve detention when it was Draco that confronted her and pushed her against the wall?

_The little git!_ she screamed inwardly. Her left shoulder throbbed from striking the wall, something she hadn't noticed until just now.

"Professor," she began in a tight voice, only for Snape to cut her off.

"Quiet, Miss Granger," he replied. "Save your explanations for your own Head of House; I for one, am not interested."

That was the final straw; at that moment Hermione had the urge to drag both Filch and Draco in front of her, turn them as well as Snape into some palm-sized furry creature with catnip antlers and present Crookshanks with new toys. She expected Snape to take Draco's side, no matter what the circumstances were, but he refused to even listen to her and that was a hard pill to swallow.

"Follow me, Miss Granger," Snape ordered in a tone that brooked no argument, breaking Hermione out of her mutinous plotting.

Feeling as if she had no other choice, Hermione picked up her fallen basket and obediently followed in behind Snape, angrily staring down at his rapidly moving feet and paying scant attention to wherever she was being led.

"Inside."

Looking up, Hermione found Snape standing by an opened door of a darkened classroom, or an office, she wasn't sure. Wall scones blared to life as she stepped inside, revealing what was in fact an old classroom.

"Have a seat," Snape told her. "I'll return in a minute."

The classroom was damp and chilly, and it took Hermione a couple of tries before she found a stool that didn't have uneven, bockety legs that made the whole thing rock back and forth when she sat down.

Hermione mused that if she had five pounds for each time she felt like an idiot when it came to dealing with Snape, that she could have treated herself to something outrageously expensive, or perhaps a brand new set of books. She felt foolish holding onto a basket that was full of food and desserts, meant to be eaten as they celebrated his birthday in a roundabout way. Instead, she had been attacked and insulted by Draco, yelled at by Filch, and given who knew how many weekends of detention by Snape. Her head was beginning to hurt and her shoulder still throbbed, the waves of pain almost congruous with the waves of anger taking over her senses. It really wasn't fair.

Continuing to seethe with anger, Hermione became so lost in her thoughts that she nearly forgot where she was, and became startled when Snape came back into the classroom, banging the door shut behind him.

"Come along, Miss Granger," he directed without looking at her.

Hermione slid off the stool and walked behind Snape, curious as to where they were going but opting to keep her mouth closed. She knew if she were to speak that her irritation would take the form of an insult, and the last thing she felt like doing was getting into it with a wizard that would not hesitate to eat her alive, spit out the bones and pulverise them for potions ingredients.

Snape paused in front of a cold hearth. Withdrawing what she guessed was a handful of Floo powder from some hidden space near the wall, he tossed it into the hearth and waited for the bright green flames to appear. Once they both Floo'd to his private room, Hermione had just stepped out of the hearth and into the middle of the study when she blurted out, "Why did you give me detention and not Malfoy?! He attacked me first!"

"Settle down, Hermione," Snape calmly told her, gesturing to the armchair before the now lit fireplace.

"No, I will _not_ settle down!" Hermione snapped. "How is it Malfoy gets to shove me against the wall and call me names, while I get punished for defending myself? What will it take for him to be treated equally, having my blood drawn? Being maimed and murdered?"

Hermione knew she was stepping over the line, but at that point she didn't care. Maybe Harry had a point about Malfoy being involved with the whole cursed necklace thing, but unfortunately none of them had any evidence. So if Malfoy could get away with nearly killing a classmate, who just happened to be a fellow Gryffindor, who was to say that he couldn't do something to her without any consequences? That was not a risk Hermione was willing to take.

"Are you finished?" Snape asked lazily, staring coolly at her.

"What...?" Hermione spluttered, thrown off by his insouciance. "I know I'm not one of your precious Slytherins, but forgive me for not taking kindly to being threatened."

"Clearly you've been hanging around Potter too long; his penchant for hot-headedness has rubbed off on you."

Hermione unleashed a cry that was a mixture of frustration and exasperation. She forgot that Snape could be unreasonable when he wanted; apparently now was one of those times.

"Are you hurt?" he was now asking her.

"Why, does it matter?" Hermione shot back.

Snape had just removed his frock coat and was now rolling the cuffs of his white shirt back to his wrists when he paused in front of Hermione.

"That is the last time you will speak to me in that tone, Miss Granger."

Snape's voice was low but his words carried a threat that Hermione had no wish to test. She flushed slightly for she knew she was being impertinent, and lowered her eyes when the professor continued staring at her without blinking.

"Now I will ask you again: are you hurt?"

"Yes, a little," she meekly answered. "I think my shoulder is bruised."

Snape said nothing as he urged Hermione out of the chair and led her to his bedroom. Once they were inside, he stepped closer and grasped the hem of Hermione's jumper, easing it up her body and over her head. Her bra received the same treatment and Hermione stood next to Snape's bed in her jeans and trainers. He moved behind her, sweeping her hair up in one hand and running his fingers of the other hand across her upper back.

Hermione winced and recoiled slightly when he probed a tender area, and wondered if she had more than just a bruise.

"It's nothing life-threatening, but some bruise-healing paste wouldn't go amiss," Snape commented as he let go of Hermione's hair, sending a draft trickling down her spine.

Hermione's anger hadn't totally dissipated, but the feel of Snape's fingers against her bare skin sent butterflies fluttering throughout her stomach. No matter that they had been intimate a countless amount of times already, the professor still had the same effect on her, and after all this time, it still hadn't ebbed.

Crossing both arms across her chest, Hermione found that her nipples had grown hard from that slight contact. _Turncoats,_ she silently told them, trying to ignore the way they brushed against her forearm. She was still furious at him for evading her question about being attacked and furious at her body for wanting more of his touch.

Snape returned shortly with a small jar in his hand. Hermione kept her arms crossed and eyed him warily, as if his jar contained more than bruise paste.

"What is it, Hermione?" he asked with impatience colouring his voice. "Are you still cross with me? Do you no longer trust me? You do know I'm not keeping you prisoner here," Snape continued, picking up Hermione's shirt and bra and holding them out to her for emphasis. "Go if you like, and by all means keep on with your childish snit."

Hermione pursed her lips but she did lower both arms to her sides. The last thing she wanted to do was leave Severus, not after all the trouble she had gone through to see him.

Taking that small gesture as a sign of surrender, Snape pointed at Hermione's trainers. "Take those off and lie down."

Figuring it was in her best interest to shut up and do as Snape said, Hermione toed her shoes off and kicked them to the side. Lying across the foot of the bed and leaving her feet dangling off the edge, Hermione buried her face into the duvet and waited for Snape to work his magic. She half expected him to stand over her head to apply the bruise paste, but instead he climbed onto the bed with her, tugging her to lie horizontally before straddling her thighs.

Long fingers gently turned Hermione's head to one side and smoothed her curls out of the way. The sound of the jar being unscrewed was close to her ear, and soon familiar callused fingers were gently massaging the ointment onto her bruised skin.

"The problem with you headstrong adolescents, especially you, my little know-it all, is you think you know everything, you think you have it all figured out," Snape began conversationally. "If you had been paying attention, you would have noticed that I _only _said you had detention. If you really had been in trouble I would have taken House points, but I suppose that small detail went over this bushy head of yours."

Hermione didn't bristle at the 'bushy head' comment, but she did let Snape's words sink in for a moment. "So does that mean I _don't_ have detention?"

Snape let out an sigh above her head. "No, Hermione. I merely said that you did for reasons which should be obvious."

The bruise-healing paste had been completely rubbed in, and now Snape was using both hands to knead and massage her shoulders. Hermione almost wanted to stay mad at the wizard, but his skilled fingers were coaxing every ill sentiment out of her limbs, and soon she lie beneath him in a limp heap.

"Keep in mind that if I'm doing something that seems unorthodox, it is in fact for a specific reason, none of which you need know about," Snape told her, his thumbs digging into Hermione's lower back and causing her to moan into the duvet. "Remember that the next time you want to fly off the handle like one of your little friends."

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled. She then turned over when she felt Snape pushing at her hip. "But Draco shoved me against the wall, called me a 'Mudblood' and then told me that I'd better tell Harry to keep his name out of his mouth. How else was I supposed to react?"

Snape wanted to applaud Hermione for sticking her wand into Malfoy's neck; the boy really was getting out of hand and needed to be taken down a peg or two. But Snape knew it would behoove him to keep that to himself. "You have every right to defend yourself, I will allow that," he said, now running his hands over Hermione's stomach. "But now do you understand why I tell you time and time again to not wander around alone?"

"Well..." Hermione trailed off, growing drowsy at the soothing feel of Snape's fingers gliding across her ribcage. "I had Harry's map...I still do, actually. I'd been looking at it and I didn't notice Draco on it, well, to be honest I wasn't really looking for him."

"Who were you looking for?"

"You, of course," Hermione said, opening her eyes and staring up at Snape. His mouth was set in a firm line and his lank, black hair was obscuring most of his face, but she could see that his eyes were focused on her bare breasts.

"So you mean you didn't come down here to behave like a deranged harpy?"

_"No._ I came down here because it's still your birthday, and I went to the kitchens to get something to celebrate."

"Only you would do such a thing after I clearly said not to." Snape was now looking at her through narrowed eyes.

"You said nothing about sticky-toffee pudding, which is what's in my basket in your sitting room. If it's still in one piece, that is. I dropped the basket when Draco pushed me."

Snape had a few choice words about the way the younger Malfoy behaved towards Hermione, but knew that they were best left unspoken. The professor would only admit it to himself, but it had been months prior where he felt as if he had some sort of claim on the young witch, and to find the ugly bruise that Draco left behind only made him want to break the insolent boy's fingers. While he couldn't control Draco's actions outside of Hogwarts, Snape made damn sure to do so while he was inside the school.

Even if it wasn't for that bloody Unbreakable Vow he'd made with Narcissa, allowing Draco to run amuck would land Snape with nothing but a headache and an inquiry as to why he was allowing students from his House to assault others. Snape was dealing with enough as it is, and had no wish to add to the already strenuous intricacies of his life.

"Just so you know, that incident will not be ignored," he told Hermione, who immediately opened her mouth to offer her opinion. "Be quiet," said Snape, reaching up to pinch her lips shut. "That was not an invitation for you to begin spouting off again. I'm merely impressing upon you the fact that you claim to trust me, yet second-guess my actions. Unless those words were uttered in vain and you only said them because you thought it was what I wanted to hear?"

"No," Hermione answered once Snape released her lips. "I meant it then, and I still do now."

The witch spoke with an utmost sincerity, although Snape never really doubted her. Besides, Hermione would never be able to convincingly lie to him. On the other hand, it wasn't her fault that he played his part well, a little too well, at times. It wasn't surprising that Hermione hadn't seen through his entire facade out in the corridor, which was what he intended in the first place.

"You know, our time was sort of cut short this morning," Hermione pointed out, looking up at Snape with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"Is that so?" he asked quietly, watching as Hermione pushed herself upright to grab his hand and pull him against her.

Hermione's grip was strong, and Snape had no problem with allowing her to tug him closer. The little witch shifted herself nearly into his lap, slipping both arms around his neck and tilting her face towards his for a kiss. He was in no position to deny her request and secured both arms around her back to keep her in place.

It had been a cold, lonely week in his bed, and with everything that happened the night before, Snape found the feel of Hermione's half-naked body in his arms to be comforting. She was half kneeling over him, her hips rocking against his as she planted kisses from his neck down to the patch of exposed skin between the unbuttoned top of his shirt.

"Yes," Hermione replied, now sitting back to undo the rest of his buttons. The witch was impatient and Snape pushed her hands out the way before she ripped his shirt, then moving onto the sleeveless vest beneath. Once he was bare-chested as Hermione, Snape went the extra step to push her to lie flat on the bed, unfastening her jeans and pulling them and her knickers off and shoving them to the side.

Hermione didn't know if she should attempt to lead or wait for Severus to do so. It didn't matter as she decided that she wanted to be kiss, and she nearly launched herself at him, wrapping both arms around his neck and pulling him down to her. She almost expected Severus to chide her for being too eager, but he didn't seem to mind. Of his own volition, Snape slowly traced his tongue along Hermione's bottom lip, placing sucking kisses to her mouth and throat before moving down her body. Long fingers curved around both breasts, lifting and gripping both with just enough pressure to make Hermione squirm. Her nipples had remained hard all that time, although it was largely due to being topless in the cool, dimly lit room. But Severus' mouth was feverishly warm, and when his mouth descended upon Hermione's left breast, she tangled her hand in his hair and urged him closer.

Snape never tired of stroking and tasting Hermione's soft skin; he would have lost himself in her body that morning, although there had been no time. Now he planned on lingering each nuance, his fingertips and tongue leading the way.

It didn't take long for Hermione to become reduced to a state of trembling, especially after Snape slipped on hand between her legs, letting his fingers graze the soft curls covering her sex. Hermione splayed her thighs and let them fall to the side, trying to encourage Severus to rub a bit harder.

Briefly Hermione wondered if Severus was going to torment her for a while before getting on with it. But apparently he wasn't in the mood to go slowly, for he literally descended upon her, his nose pressing into her sternum as he sucked her entire areola into his mouth while his fingertip strummed over her sensitive clit.

"Oh!" Hermione cried sharply when two fingers swiftly pressed inside her body, and with little difficult began teasing and stroking her walls. She wanted to touch Severus, wherever her hands would allow considering the position she was lying in, but Hermione was rapidly losing focus as the thrusting fingers sent jolts of pleasure coursing throughout her limbs.

Head spinning with arousal, Hermione needed to feel Severus against her, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders and tried to pull him closer. Without moving his hand from between her legs, he straddled one thigh while hovering over the witch, capturing her lips in a deep kiss that spoke of more to come.

Severus continued twisting his long fingers inside of Hermione, the feel of her juices soaking his palm enough to fuel his own arousal. Looking down at the witch who was rapidly becoming lost to her own pleasure, he watched as dropped her hand from his shoulder to reach down and rub herself while he fingered her.

His erection was almost hard enough to break the placket of his trousers, and Snape wished that he had taken them off earlier. He was in a quandary as to what he wanted to watch more; Hermione's face the closer she got to orgasm, or his fingers which were now glistening with her slick juices.

Making sure to keep his movements steady, Severus watched as Hermione's body drew tighter and tighter until her back was completely arched off the bed. Her walls were fluttering around his fingers, and his hand was soaked to the knuckle. Within a few more seconds Hermione released a sharp gasp followed by a piercing cry that left his ears ringing, and she broke apart.

Severus continued fingering her throughout her climax, although he was met with a dire need to bury himself in Hermione's body. It was awkward trying to unfasten his trousers with one hand but finally he got them and his boxers down to his thighs. Hermione was still in a daze and complained minimally when Severus withdrew his hand, but her annoyance was short lived when she was roughly pulled beneath the wizard and his weeping and very erect cock replaced his fingers.

The young witch sharply sucked in air when Severus entered her in one long, steady thrust that left him deeply seated within her. Too far gone to bother with mindfully easing his way into Hermione's snug body, Severus tried to at least make sure that he wasn't outright pummeling into her. Even though it had been little more than a week when they were last intimate, it was still too long and he felt himself about to lose control sooner than he anticipated. But he wanted to see Hermione come apart once more, and grabbed onto her thighs, pushing one to the side and wrapping his arm around the other.

Hermione felt splayed and vulnerable for more reason than one, and with Severus holding onto her while making it clear that he wasn't letting go any time soon, the steady cadence of his hips rocking into hers was enough to send her over the edge once more.

The sounds from her mouth could only be described as nonsensical, but Severus planted his lips at the side of Hermione's neck, his voice a rough whisper as he encouraged her to continue making those little noises. Another of his rough, needy growls into Hermione's ear was enough to set fire to her blood, and her scream became trapped between clenched teeth as bliss shot throughout her trembling body.

Severus felt every drop of his seed literally being milked out of his twitching cock until it was if he had been drained dry. Vaguely aware that he'd been swearing underneath his breath from his forceful release, he almost forgot that Hermione had been clutching onto him the entire time until he moved to shift to the side and her arms tightened around him.

"Stay," she murmured sleepily, nuzzling her nose against his cheek.

Too worn out to do more than nod, Severus allowed Hermione to keep him in place. Her fingertips were circling one of the rough scars on his back and for a split second he wondered if Hermione was put off by his flawed body. But the little witch kept her eyes closed, her hand continuously moving over skin, caressing each scar as if she was trying to memorise them by feel.

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**_Not done, not done by a long shot..._**


	30. Chapter 30

**_A/N: I'm seriously waiting for a torch-wielding mob to show up at my house for not properly replying yet. But work is kicking my ASS and I can barely keep my eyes open during the week and I literally only had to time rush and type up the last few chapters and post them. My hair and laundry have taken a backseat to my story for the past day because I really wanted to get this posted, so pleeeeease don't hate me or think I'm getting too big for my boots, because that is so not the case. I also have a few updates to catch up on, so if you see my reviews in your inbox, I've come to stalk your stories._**

**_Okay. A bit of character death in this chapter, some more angst, MORE lemons because there wasn't enough the last go around. As always, thank yooou so much for the reviews and alerts! I owe you all gratuitous hugs, kisses, pats on the butt, and chocolate cake and pies. I love hearing from you all, so don't be shy and remember to click follow if you want to get updates! _**

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Thirty minutes later, Snape finally moved from on top of Hermione and used his wand to get rid of the telling mess of their coupling from her thighs. Hermione had caught her second wind and climbed out of bed, running to the front room to get her basket. She was still naked and prepared to walk out of the bedroom like so when Snape hissed in annoyance, making Hermione come back and summoning one of his nightshirts and shoving it over her head. The nervy witch had the nerve to grin at his displeasure, but she hurriedly disappeared and reappeared, bearing a basket that was bigger than her head.

"Did you bring the entire of Hogwarts kitchen with you?" Snape asked when he noticed the way she hefted the bulky thing up onto a chair.

"Dobby," Hermione explained with a sigh. She still was not completely comfortable with the idea of giving the house-elves extra work to do, but they seemed so pleased whenever she visited the kitchens, especially since she had long stopped trying to give them clothes. By now, Hermione could ask for a bit of milk, and they would give her an entire carafe. She reckoned they would Apparate somewhere to get her an entire cow if she were so inclined.

Snape looked on as Hermione stood at the foot of his bed, pulling little dishes out of the basket. Between talking to Katie Belle's parents, who came to Hogwarts to remove their daughter to St Mungo's, and then storming down to the dungeons to find Draco, only for Crabbe and Goyle to shabbily attempt to waylay him by the stairs, Snape had almost forgotten about dinner. By now he didn't have much of an appetite, but seeing as how Hermione had gone through all the trouble to visit the kitchens, he decided to appease her. After the first bite, he found that he was marginally hungry and managed a bit of each dish that the house-elf had packed. Snape did, however, devour the sticky-toffee pudding that thankfully had remained in one piece.

Now the two were sitting in his bed, the hearth burning low across the room. Snape had dressed in another nightshirt and was reclining against a pile of pillows while Hermione lie next to him, playing with his fingers and pressing the odd kiss into his palm. For someone that had been staunchly against celebrating their birthday, he secretly admitted to himself that spending his evening with Hermione was turning out to be rather pleasant, although most time spent with her usually was pleasant.

Hermione was now rubbing her lips across his wrist. While it would have seemed odd had anyone else done that to him, Snape chalked the gesture up to another innocent show of affection, and told himself that Hermione could place her lips anywhere she liked on his body.

"Severus?" she murmured against his hand, turning it over and grazing her lips against his knuckles.

"Yes?"

"How old are you now?"

"Too old for you," he replied, smirking when Hermione glowered at him.

"That's absurd," she sniffed, lacing her fingers through his and resting her head against his shoulder. "Besides, that's really a matter of semantics. And not to beat a dead horse, but thinking back to everything I've been through thus far, my age really never played a factor in any of it. Dolohov certainly didn't bother to inquire about my age as he gave me this," Hermione continued, pointing to the space between her breasts.

"While you almost make a valid point, I assume you haven't thought about what tomorrow holds," Snape replied. "Yes, it seems like you've seen a lot thus far, but you have yet to experience a quarter of what life holds for you. You can and you will move on from all of this."

"Why do you speak as if you have no place in my future?" asked Hermione in a wobbly voice, sitting up and looking at him with a sobering expression on her face.

"I prefer pragmatism over fatalism, but even if there is a chance that I come out of this alive, I know for fact that you will be eager to close this chapter of your life. I would expect nothing less."

"I don't think I'd really be able to _close_ anything; it's not as if Dark wizards being led by one megalomaniac are something you happen across on a regular day," Hermione began carefully, "but if you're getting at what I think you're getting at, then you're wrong."

"And there goes that Gryffindor tenacity," said Snape, causing Hermione to stiffen her shoulders. "Hermione, listen to me," he continued, his fingers tightening slightly around hers. "I'm not telling you any of this to be harsh, but fact remains that you are young, and in the long run I would do nothing but hold you back. I know I can be a bastard, but I will not allow you to ruin your life for the likes of me. It's bad enough you and those other two dolts not to mention the rest of these wayward children are being made to get tangled with things that many more experienced wizards have yet to encounter. "

Hermione leaned across Snape's lap to stare directly in his face. "I told you before: you'll have to do better than that to keep me away," she firmly stated with a glint of defiance shining in her brown eyes. "I'm not going anywhere and neither are you."

"It's not that easy, Hermione," Snape told her in a rough voice that sounded as if he wished just the opposite.

"But you can't..." Hermione trailed off in a sudden choked sob, unable to get out the last word.

Hermione had never given thought to the idea that a day might come where she would no longer be able to see Severus. Not because of anyone learning about their illicit relationship, but because of the fact that he was no longer alive. The realisation that that could become a fast reality was a harsh blow, and tears began prickling her eyes.

_I won't cry, I will not cry,_ she told herself, grabbing a handful of the duvet in one fist in an attempt to calm herself.

While she believed to have been doing a fine job thus far of keeping her emotions in check when it concerned the impending war, Hermione knew that if she gave into her worry and grief and let everything out, that she might not be able to stop. Now was not the time to break down, and after all, Snape did tell her that tears were useless. But it still didn't negate the wrenching sensation in her chest.

"Will you at least try?" she asked mournfully. "Will you promise me that?"

Snape felt something twist in his own chest at Hermione's question. Over the years he had made countless promises to help Dumbledore, the Order, the Dark side, and even a deceased woman that had never once heard his plea. Never had anyone told him to look after himself, to be careful, and now Hermione was asking him to promise her that he would try to do so, and it was too much.

The professor wasn't used to feeling whatever it was that had taken over his senses, and for a moment he wanted to push Hermione off his lap and run out of the room, just to get a breather. But the sight of the young witch, sniffling and sitting there in his ratty grey nightshirt which was much too large for her petite frame, with her unruly hair surrounding her pretty yet tear-stained face mere inches away from his made a knot form in his gut.

"I will," Snape finally answered. "And haven't I told you that crying solves nothing?"

"Then call me a weak little schoolgirl if you like, but right now I can't help it."

"Tears aren't a sign of weakness, Hermione."

"No? Because I feel pretty pathetic right now, if you must know."

"A weak person wouldn't be sitting here right now," Snape assured, grasping Hermione by the forearms to draw her closer and wiping the remaining tears from her face with both thumbs. "There is no way I would allow myself to become involved in the slightest with someone whom I believed to be weak-minded or easily bent to the will of others."

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and asked in a cracking voice, " I suppose I should take that as a compliment?"

"If it will make you sleep better at night."

"Cheeky man," Hermione said between sniffles, grabbing onto Snape's hand that still lingered by her neck and pressing a kiss onto it. She then kept his hand in hers but lowered it to her lap, falling into thoughtful silence.

Snape's penchant for keeping a dark classroom carried over into his personal time, and his bedroom was just as dimly lit. There were a few candles scattered about, many of them looking as if they were on their last legs; one was mostly a pile of wax with a single blue flame flickering on its wick. However, while his classrooms usually held an eerie atmosphere, Snape's bedroom was much less foreboding, perhaps because there was that small fact of both of them sitting in his bed in their nightclothes.

Hermione sat there, turning Snape's hand over in hers and tracing her fingertips over the calluses on his skin. In spite of the lack of overt lighting, she was still able to see nearly everything before her.

While Snape's hands were slender and his fingers long and thin, Hermione mused that they were stronger than they looked, not to mention capable. His nails and cuticles weren't overly manicured nor were they a complete mess. In any event, Hermione remembered had never been scratched when he touched her. She continued running her fingers over Snape's wrist, falling quiet for so long that she nearly jumped when Snape's voice cut through the darkness.

"Find something interesting?"

His head was resting on a pillow and he was looking directly at Hermione, his black eyes intently focused on her face. He found it interesting the way Hermione was examining his hands, as if they were some sort of object to be revered. If only she knew about the abhorrent things those hands carried out many times over; he wondered if she would be so keen to them, or him, for that matter.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "At first I was wondering why you always keep whichever room you're in so dark, then I started wondering about your hands. They're stronger than appear to be."

"I don't believe I have ever met anyone who took such an interest in my hands," Snape began dryly. "But as for my proclivity for not cracking open every window, if you lived and taught in dungeon-level quarters for the better part of your adult life, I would like to see how your eyes fare with the harsh lighting."

"Oh... Guess I didn't think about that."

"Clearly," Snape answered with a smirk on his face. "It's no wonder I'm given the clever epithet of 'bat'," he continued, placing heavy irony on the word 'clever'.

"Nothing to do with the black robes, then?"

"Would you have me wearing bright turquoise silk like another wizard that comes to mind?"

"Gods, no!" Hermione chirped, breaking out into a fit of laughter. The idea of Snape wearing such an eye-popping colour was nearly too much. She could picture him in Muggle clothing before Snape allowed himself to become swathed in a lurid shade of wizard's robes in a colour worn by the likes of Dumbledore or even Lockhart.

Hermione continued her perusal of Snape's hands, only she began trailing her fingertips along the inside of his wrist. Inches away from the Dark Mark burned into his left forearm, Snape hoped that the inquisitive witch was not in the mood for giving an in-depth interrogation. It was bad enough that he was forced to look at the thing forever marring his pale skin, and Snape avoided doing so whenever possible. But talking about it was the last thing he felt like doing.

While Hermione's eyes had strayed to the black skull with a snake protruding from its mouth, she was tactful enough to not linger. Of course, just because Hermione wasn't about to ask about his Dark Mark, it didn't mean that she would not ask about anything else.

"What made you become a teacher?" she queried, apropos of nothing, causing Snape to look levelly at her.

"Why do you ask?"

Hermione shrugged. "Just curious. You just always seemed to, erm, prefer to _not_ be in the presence of children. I just wondered why you chose to take a teaching position instead of something else—stop frowning at me."

"And what gave you the idea that I prefer to not in the presence of these obstreperous little bastards, excuse me, _darling _children?" he retorted with a sneering grin.

"You're right old misery," Hermione laughed. "Maybe because you just referred to the entire student body as 'little bastards'? So, I'm curious...why?"

"You ask a lot of questions, chatty little girl. Why should I answer them?"

"Because _you're _the professor, it's your job to offer enlightenment to the ignorant masses," Hermione offered, lightly poking Snape in the chest.

"Oddly enough, I thought you were the professor, considering the way you attempted to undermine my authority at every turn," Snape drawled, causing Hermione to grin sheepishly. "To put it simply, if I wanted to eat and keep a roof over my head, I had to have a job. Does that answer your question?"

Hermione frowned slightly as she nodded her head. Countless times she found herself musing over the fact that Snape was a professor, as it seemed that he truly hated his job. Of course, now that she was more apprised with certain facets of his life, Hermione merely chalked Snape's attitude up to being worried and stressed all the time, even if he claimed that he was fine. Never did she imagine that his teaching position had been taken out of a lack of alternate choices.

"You're thinking about this much too hard," Snape said, catching the faraway glint in Hermione's eye. "I assure you the back story of it is not all that glamorous."

Hermione looked as if she wanted to hear what Snape had to say, no matter how gruesome or humdrum the details may be, and she stretched out alongside him, obviously waiting for him to speak.

"There truly isn't much to say, Hermione," Snape finally began. "I only had myself to depend on and a source of income was necessary."

"So that's it? Teaching at Hogwarts was just a job for you?" Hermione pressed.

"Were you expecting a more poignant answer?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, looking just a bit hopeful as if Snape might have more to tell her.

"Sorry to disappoint you," he replied, his tone clearly conveying that he was no longer going to speak on the subject of his past.

"You still never told me how old you are," Hermione chided, pushing her hair back and resting her head on the pillow next to his.

"A very old and tired thirty-seven," Snape murmured into her ear. "Now be quiet else I'll send you back to your tower."

Snape had turned onto his side and draped one arm across Hermione's waist. Judging by the way his hand was running over the dip in her back, Hermione was sure that he wasn't about to send her anywhere, yet she decided to not risk it.

While Hermione pressed herself closer and draped one leg in between his, Snape continued running his hand over her clothed back as he mused upon her question, the one he refused to give a lengthy explanation to.

His father, Tobias Snape, had died the summer before his seventh year at Hogwarts. While the circumstances surrounding his death might have been suspicious to those of the wizarding world, the Muggle authorities chalked it up to alcohol poisoning and kidney failure. Severus nor his mum shed a tear when the man was buried.

Perhaps that had been why Severus was so shocked to find his mum's mental health, and then later, physical health, in a steady decline after her husband's death. Severus had just graduated from Hogwarts and returned to the dreary confines of Spinner's End, finding that his mother seemed to have aged over the short period of a few months since he had seen her last.

It was as if the woman had completely given up on life. Mundane tasks, such as sleeping, eating, and bathing, seemed to be low on the totem pole of priorities for the once sharp-witted yet repressed witch, and it had been up to Severus to make sure that all of his mother's basic needs were met. Severus hadn't known the first thing about cooking; on his best day he could make toast and eggs that didn't resemble a lump of coal. But Eileen had been so lost into the depths of her own mind that she never noticed the meals set before her by her son, nor did she comment on how palatable they were.

While Severus, and prior to that, his mum, had always preferred to be alone, there had been many times where he became desperate enough to wish that there was a somewhat friendly female neighbour around that would be able to assist him, especially when it came to helping his mum bathe. If Eileen had been embarrassed by her own son giving her a bath, she never made mention of it and stayed silent throughout the entire process.

The closest Severus had to a female acquaintance of sorts had been Narcissa Black, and they were closely aligned as neighbouring planets in the solar system. To Narcissa, Severus was sure that he was nothing but Lucius' odd friend that first came to Hogwarts with tatty robes and unwashed hair. Besides, there was no way he would have let anyone into his shabby house, never mind a pure-blood witch that came from a long line of wealthy, aristocratic witches and wizards. The only other person that knew about his mum had been Lily Evans, not long after, Potter, and Severus knew that it didn't matter what desperate straits he was met with, there was nothing he could say or do that would warrant his former best friend to help him.

Severus couldn't understand for the life of him why his mother had fallen into such a state of despair. He always thought that his mum would have been glad to be rid of his father, but supposed that after so many years of marriage and keeping constant company, in spite of Tobias' constant abuse she had gotten used to his presence. Severus certainly didn't miss his father, and at one point he even told Eileen that she should be happy to no longer be subjected to a lifetime of misery. The thin, sallow-skinned, sour-faced woman he so greatly resembled merely looked up at her son as if she almost loathed him for that comment. Even without her saying a word it was clear that she disagreed with her son. Severus had been disgusted by her affrontedness and left Eileen alone in the front room, allowing her to keep company with her scorn.

Shortly before her passing, an event which Severus had been completely unprepared for, Eileen summoned her son to the front room. He found her in her favourite armchair by the hearth, idly stroking the blanket he'd previously draped across her lap as if it were a kitten.

"The house is paid for," she explained curtly, her black eyes holding a steady gaze with her adult yet lost-looking child. "It was the least I could do. You can keep it or sell it."

Severus had been so shocked to hear his mum speak, and say something sensible, that he was silent for several minutes. He supposed her statement had been a roundabout apology, or some semblance of a loving sentiment. Finally uttering a rough "All right" Snape had waited to see if Eileen had anything else to say. It had been almost as if she had forgotten about her son standing less than two feet away from her, because she had then lowered her head and continued with caressing her blanket.

Eileen's burial had been a sombre affair, one only her son had been present for. Severus went to his mum's room one morning to bring her breakfast and found her cold body, still tucked beneath the pile of blankets. There had been no friends or relatives to notify, and once everything was all said it done, the only reminder of Eileen Snape's presence on earth had been her wand, first given to her at the age of eleven and rarely used after her marriage to Tobias Snape, a few moth-eaten witches robes, a handful of Muggle dresses, and some books. There was no inheritance to be had, as Severus suspected his mother had used the last of her meagre savings to pay the off the mortgage on the terraced house.

After Severus had sold off the few things remaining in his house which still held any sort of value, it had quickly become apparent that he needed a job, and fast.

It was no secret that Severus had been precociously brilliant, having passed every subject with ease during his time at Hogwarts. However, that brilliance turned out to be most unhelpful for the longest time while he sought gainful employment. Severus had visited all sorts of places to find work. All it had taken was a single glance from most people to quickly tell him that they had nothing, but perhaps would keep him in mind. Desperately wanting to stay within the wizarding world, Severus continued on, hoping that the tables would turn in his favour.

When an empty belly and sore feet from pounding the pavement day in and out almost drove him to consider seeking employment in a Muggle place of business, Severus had noticed Albus Dumbledore slipping into the Hog's Head pub and decided to grovel and beg for a job.

Severus had never actually gotten around to his request, for he overheard Sybil Trelawney's prophecy while standing at the door on the second floor of the pub. Upon learning that Snape had been eavesdropping, the three got into an argument, after which Aberforth, Albus's crotchety brother, threw him out of the pub and onto his arse.

It had been another year before Severus was given a teaching position at Hogwarts, and it was only on the condition that Severus do whatever Dumbledore asked of him.

Lucius Malfoy learned that Severus was to teach Potions at Hogwarts, and sneered a bit, asking why did he want to bother with snot-nosed brats, and that if Severus needed a a job referral, or perhaps bit of gold, all he needed to do was ask. But the last thing Snape wanted was to have to pay back a favour for Lucius Malfoy. While it was true that they were friends, Snape knew that the Malfoy family tended to lean towards the side of equal indemnification if it suited them.

Although Snape had helped Lucius on numerous occasions, there were some things that he preferred to not leave to chance, such as his livelihood. In their small circle, it was no secret that Lucius was high ranking among the Death Eaters, as well as the upper echelons of wizarding society. He had been the one to invite Snape into his fold, and long after the Dark Lord had seemingly been vanquished, Malfoy's reputation preceded him, be it good, bad, or indifferent. At the end of the day, Snape had his own neck to look out for, and he would not chance even the slightest hint of a threat.

While teaching Potions at Hogwarts was the last thing Snape envisioned himself doing, sometimes he found that his work wasn't all that bad. In fact, it was child's play compared to the darker aspects of his double life. While his teaching position afforded him a full belly, a roof over his head for nine months out of the year, as well as a steady amount of Galleons deposited into his account, there had been many times where Snape truly questioned the reason for his existence.

Lily Potter, née Evans, was the sole reason he even bothered with surrendering to Dumbledore's orders. Becoming intertangled with Voldemort and his followers had been a decision that Snape made when he was at the lowest part of his life, and it took the death of the one person he loved to make him see how wrong it all was.

Although, once the Dark Lord had returned and Snape had attended countless meetings where he returned to his rooms, in so much pain that it wouldn't have mattered to him if he were to drop dead on the spot, he couldn't help but wonder if things had been different had he never heard the prophecy, if he never joined the Death Eaters.

Would he have become a Potions master, sweating over cauldrons for the better part of his adult life? While there were worse things in life than teaching a class full of Neville Longbottoms, teaching had never been a profession that Snape saw himself in. For one, he preferred to be alone, something that stemmed from his childhood days at school. The only person he never minded working with had been Lily, and that was before their falling out.

Besides, children annoyed him even when he was a child, as well as most adults for that matter. Snape had never been much of a talker unless he had something of importance to say, which made him an intent listener. He found his peers and professors to whine about some of the most trivial things; a classmate fancying someone and not having their affections returned, someone's mum or dad refusing to buy them a brand new racing broom, even though their old one worked perfectly fine. Meanwhile, Snape had been perfectly content to have a warm bed to sleep in at night and three generously-sized meals a day, not to mention snacks in between, the likes of which he would have never seen back at home.

It had been a curious thing, trying to fit in with the many pompous not to mention wealthy members of Slytherin house, even though he kept his own background, which he believe to be marred, hidden from everyone. Snape ranged between jealousy, awe and disgust at many of them, at the same time wishing that he was able to strut about like many of the wizards that came from a well-off family. While Lucius Malfoy had been just as pompous, he at least had the graces to not behave the braggart as well, claiming that doing so was tawdry and common. In certain aspects, the wizard had more manners than his progeny, although as of late they had become far and few.

There was no telling how Lucius would behave after being sent to Azkaban, a place that Snape had craftily avoided with the help of Dumbledore. That had been another point which irked him to no end, knowing that he needed the bespectacled white-haired wizard as some form of protection.

Snape hated to _need_ anyone, but fact remained that at some point or another he most likely would have ended in the very place that Lucius landed himself had it not been for the headmaster.

Many times, Snape pondered on being born into an unlucky life, something he absolutely had no control over. Growing up, he briefly dallied with the idea that perhaps having two wizarding parents would have made a difference, but it soon became apparent that many of his classmates were half-bloods or Muggle-borns, both of whom had a proper upbringing. The little witch lying next to him definitely had the look of being loved and well-cared for, and her parents were both Muggles.

Still, at the end of the day, blood status and the like meant nothing when it came to the harsh teachings of life, and everyone was being forced to endure trials and tribulations. Snape hoped that if by some miracle he were to survive it all, he wouldn't have to live out his remaining days in Azkaban. He would sooner take his own life before being forced to live under the threat of the Dementors.

"Severus, are you all right?" Hermione asked suddenly, pushing herself up slightly to peer into his face.

Snape was broken out of his unpropitious musings, and while he was glad for it, he still arched an eyebrow."Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you sort of went stiff against me, I thought perhaps you were in pain."

"Not at all, Miss Granger."

"Hermione!"

Snape moved so quickly that Hermione never saw it coming, although she easily acquiesced to being pinned beneath the slim wizard's body.

"Damn difficult witch," he muttered, lowering his head and dragging his lips across hers. "Do you not remember me telling you that I prefer silence in my bedroom? No shouting like some deranged harridan."

"Then address me properly," Hermione told him sweetly, tucking the fallen strands of Snape's hair behind his ears and pulling him down for a full on kiss.

Even though it was Hermione's initial question that spurred a lengthy self-examination of the past occurrences in his life, Snape found himself becoming lost in the taste of her mouth, not to mention the way she was now pressing her body upwards and against his. They both were still dressed in his long nightshirts, and it quickly became evident that Hermione wanted him naked. She grasped a fistful of material at his back, attempting to find the hem of his nightshirt while keeping her mouth against his, soon huffing in exaggeration when her efforts were thwarted.

"_Hermione, _would you like to sit up so I might undress you?" Snape asked dryly as he moved to kneel upright between her thighs.

"As if I'd say no to that," she answered, sitting up and holding onto Snape's forearms to pull herself to her knees.

Hermione was soon rendered speechless as Snape dragged the nightgown over her head, impatiently tossing it behind him. While his previous movements had been hasty, he was now touching her slowly. One hand remained at the small of her back while his other hand gently cupped and lifted her left breast. Capturing her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, Snape teased it into standing out at attention, before circling it with his tongue.

The air in the room was cool but Snape's mouth was hot, and the conflicting sensations made Hermione shiver. Letting out a breathless moan she repositioned her arms to leave one wound around his neck, trying to keep from falling. They were both kneeling on the bed and facing one another. Snape was busy with her nipples, and Hermione became so caught up in the feel of his teeth and tongue moving across her flesh that she didn't anticipate the hand that had been on her back now making its way between her legs.

It felt as if there was a direct line from her nipples leading to her clit; the more Severus licked and pinched the tight little nubs, while simultaneously tweaking her clitoris between two fingers, the more aroused Hermione became until she was shaking.

Lifting his head to look into Hermione's face, Snape saw that her brows were drawn together, as if in deep concentration, and her lips were parted. A few times Hermione had been about to fall, when Snape told her to hold onto him. Now she was digging her fingers into his shoulders, bracing herself against him while awkwardly gyrating against his hand.

Snape's palm was soaked long before he slipped two fingers inside her body, and that little shift had been just enough to bring her to the shuddering edge of climax.

"Why did you stop?!" Hermione asked accusingly when Snape withdrew his hand, pulling back and pulling his nightshirt over his head. She looked completely pissed, put out, and thoroughly aroused, and Snape couldn't help but to smirk.

"Because I want to finish you off with my mouth," he smoothly answered, causing Hermione's eyes to widen. "Now, come here," he directed after lying on the bed and placing two pillows beneath his head. "No, the other way," Snape said when Hermione made to straddle him by way of facing him.

"Like this?" she asked, her legs now on either side of his torso with her bum hovering over his chest.

"Almost." Snape grasped her thighs and pulled Hermione back until her swollen, glistening sex was right above his face. If Hermione had been shocked by the new position she didn't let on, yet she was unable to muffle the sharp gasp that poured from her lips once Snape pressed his tongue to her engorged clitoris.

It didn't take long for Hermione to begin rocking her hips against his face while digging her fingertips into his thighs. Just as Snape was about to pause and suggest that it would be pleasurable if she also reciprocated, he felt Hermione grasp the base of his cock and guide it into her mouth.

Moaning into her flesh at the feel of wet heat surrounding him, Snape continued alternating between teasing Hermione with the tip of his tongue, and flattening it and running broad, long strokes against the length of her clasping slit.

With the new angle Hermione felt much more exposed, yet Severus' tongue felt invitingly warm against her most intimate places. Even though he didn't ask her to, Hermione wanted to place her mouth on him, and the mere thought of them pleasuring one another at the same time sent her mind spinning. Severus' hips were churning upwards as she ran her lips and tongue over the head of his cock, obviously wanting her to take in the entire thing. Soon as she went down as far as possible without gagging, Severus unleashed a deep, throaty groan, and she literally felt its vibrations titillating her already sensitive core.

If Hermione had been thinking about anything at the moment, her train of thought was completely obliterated as two skilled fingers slowly pressed inside her again. The sublime pressure was nearly enough to make Hermione forget to move her head, and it was only when she felt Snape thrusting up into her mouth that she remembered her task at hand.

Long fingers stroked and manipulated her while fervent lips and tongue pulled and suckled on her, and Hermione's orgasm hit her so suddenly that she was unable to make a sound. Her walls spasmed around the two fingers while tremors made her shake from head to toe, until finally when went limp along the length of Snape's body, resting her head on his thighs with his very much erect cock nestled between her breasts.

Snape also hadn't anticipated Hermione reaching her release so quickly, but the feel of her literally pulsating against his mouth had his cock throbbing. With one final lick he tapped Hermione's hip and waited for her to slide off his legs and onto her back on the bed.

Hermione was still dazed from her climax, and didn't lift so much as one finger when she felt Severus nudging her exhausted thighs apart with one knee.

"That was new," she murmured breathlessly, her eyes still closed.

Snape gave a hoarse chuckle as his eyes took in the sight of her prone form. Hermione's hair was all over the place, which was the norm for the errant strands, and her chin was a bit shiny with saliva from going down on him.

"Sorry," Hermione continued, opening her eyes when she felt the sticky head of his cock pressing against her inner thigh. "I guess I sort of left you hanging."

"You can make it up to me," he silkily suggested. "Now turn over."

Hermione still didn't feel like moving but she wanted more, and shifted her weight until her face and stomach was pressing against the duvet. She expected him to come into her right away, the way he often did when they had been parted for too long. Instead, she felt her hair being smooth away from her face with one hand. Snape moved her curls until they were draped completely to the side, exposing the long line of her neck and back. Slow moving fingers began tracing a path down the length of her body, using a touch so light that Hermione almost wondered if Severus' fingers were actually on her.

Almost purring at the contact, Hermione was unable to let out more than a sigh when she felt the blunt tip of Severus' cock nudging its way into her still inflamed body.

The wizard moved excruciatingly slow, and every push and pull of his hips made her inhale softly. The underside of his shaft brushed against something on each outstroke, and that small movement soon had Hermione coming up on her knees to push back. However, Severus grabbed onto her hips to keep her from moving further, and Hermione made some small noise that conveyed her annoyance.

"Don't make any sounds," she heard Severus say over her head. "Just feel."

_Easy for you to say! _Hermione bristled inwardly, but she vowed to keep quiet. Whatever Severus was intending surely had to be good, and she had no complaints on that forefront. But not making any noise was no easy task, as she was compelled to moan or hiss each time he withdrew, only to slowly sink back inside her until his sac was flush with her behind.

His hands had angled her hips just so, and each time he lunged forward it sent a flicker of pleasure shooting to her stomach until the flickers turned into one big knot of need that was surely going to send her over the edge at any given moment.

Snape told Hermione to contain her moans for a few reasons; one, the sound of them alone was enough to set his cock twitching, and two, if she couldn't moan, the her unchecked passion took the form of something more physical. He was sure that Hermione was completely unaware of the way her body trembled. Her left arm was outstretched, her short fingernails threatening to leave claw marks in his duvet. Had they been closer to the footboard, most likely she would have left marks in the wood. Hermione's right arm was bent and beneath her face, and she was breathing noisily into its crook, most likely biting down on her own flesh to keep from screaming.

When the little witch's body culminated to an unsteady thrashing about, the fervent pulsing of her walls a dead giveaway that she was about to come again, Severus stopped completely. Hermione nearly reared up in frustration at her orgasm being denied, and actually kicked at the duvet.

"Remember, my bed, my rules," he said, bowing his head to whisper into her ear. "You'll have release when I want you to."

Hermione said nothing, but her hand clenched around the duvet as if it was the source of her torment. Snape was mildly amused by her impatience, but the throbbing in his own groin was not. Straddling Hermione's thighs, he grabbed onto the fleshy globes of her arse, kneading them for a moment before separating them to reveal the flushed redness of her sex.

It all looked warm and inviting, even the rosy tightly-puckered hole that he only slipped a finger into a few times. Snape never had a taste for buggering, as the women he previously consorted with had equally used holes, and their arse tended to be just as loose as their quim. He wondered if Hermione would ever consider allowing him to use more than his finger there when he felt her kicking behind him again, as if to say 'Just get on with it already!'

Already forgetting about his no-noise rule when he sank himself to the hilt, Hermione used both hands to grab onto the duvet and pushed her hips up to meet his. Severus had meant to prolong their lovemaking but all thoughts of going slowly were swept away as he became lost to the feel of Hermione's walls squeezing him.

Desperate to come and in no mood for a subdued writhing, Hermione continued pushing back, her soft behind grinding into Severus' crotch. All it took was one slight tilt of his own hips and a few well-placed downward thrusts, and Hermione finally came apart beneath him, her constrained moans rising to a high-pitched shriek.

Somewhere in the midst of her cries, Snape was sure he heard Hermione apologising, most likely because he told her to remain silent, but he was so far gone that it didn't make a difference.

Shoving one arm beneath Hermione until her breasts were flattened against his forearm, Snape knotted his fingers into her curls and buried his face into the side of her neck, all the while still moving inside her.

"One more, and I'll come with you," he coaxed into her neck, flicking his tongue out and licking at the damp, slightly salty area.

Hermione needed little encouragement, but the reassuring sound of Severus' voice alone, coupled with those oh-so-perfect thrusts were enough to send her over the precipice once more. Coming so hard that her vision began obscured, Hermione didn't notice that she had reached back to awkwardly hold onto Severus' neck as he pounded into her, his arm also tightening its hold on her body.

Tightly fisting Hermione's curls and groaning and swearing into her neck, every last shred of Severus' composure was lost as he flooded her walls with his release. At one point he wondered just how much fluid had been wrench from his body until he realised that Hermione had exploded, literally and figuratively, liberally bathing his balls and most of the duvet with her essence.

When Severus finally lifted his head, he found that Hermione looking as if she planned on going to sleep right then and there. Mustering enough energy to drag himself off her back and pull her away from the soaked and now cold patch of duvet.

"Aren't you going to send me back to my dormitory?" Hermione asked drowsily, nuzzling her face against Snape's chest. He somehow managed to shift them to the other end of his bed, leaving himself on the edge and Hermione on the inside. Snape had just finished pulling the duvet up to her shoulder, and was in the middle of plucking a few loose curls away from Hermione's lips when he heard her mumbling.

"Not yet," Snape replied, his arm going limp across her body and own eyes already on the verge of crashing shut. "Now go to sleep."

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**_:)_**


	31. Chapter 31

**_A/N: Holy shit, I am barely coherent. It's wtf o'clock and I'm posting this update which took me allllll day to complete. I think I got out most errors (hah!), all lies, I know there are more hidden within. As always, thank you so, so, soo much for the reviews. Some of this is HBP compliant, some of it is not, but I think we all expect that. I love you for reading and reviewing and saving this to your alerts and favs, if I could kiss and hug you all, I would. And I'd bake you a big cake and take you on the HP tour in Disney. I think it's in Disney. All right, bedtime. _**

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Sleep was the only time Hermione had been able to shut her brain off, but even then there had been times where she jolted awake in the middle of the night, sitting completely upright in bed, heart pounding because she was scared that she'd forgotten to study for something. Up until the previous year, those had been the only types of horrors to worry her on a subconscious level. Then everything with Umbridge and the fight at the Department of Mysteries only further added to the malaise. Hermione had dubbed it 'stress somnia' as it kept her awake more times than she cared to count.

However, at the moment, Hermione was so into her slumber that the whole of Hogwarts could have crashed down around her and she would not have noticed. She was definitely unaware of the pair of black eyes focused through the darkness on her sleeping form. While there were fine lines of stress at the edges, there was a slight softness in them that had never been shown in the light of day, or even when Hermione was fully conscious.

While the two were asleep, Hermione managed to roll almost completely on top of Snape, trapping his lower body with her right leg. She kept him ensnared until drifting awake when she felt his hand stroking her side. That led to her straddling him properly and after a bit of lazy kissing and caressing one another, he found his way back inside her body.

Hermione had still been in a relaxed state and kept her head buried at the side of Snape's neck while he held onto her waist and slowly thrust up into her. They moved less franticly that go round, and remained somewhat quiet as they reached a simultaneous climax. Hermione had then stroked Severus' face with her fingertips, eventually falling back asleep with his limp member still partially buried inside her.

A few hours later, Snape reasoned that waking a troll would have been easier than waking Hermione. She lay like a log, sprawled out on her stomach with the duvet pulled up to her ears. When Snape pulled the covers back away from her, Hermione curled up to get comfortable, finally resorting to blindly chasing the residual heat embedded in the sheets by scooting further down in the bed.

Before she was able to burrow at the footboard beneath the blankets, Snape placed his palm against her cheek and stroked it until Hermione's eyes fluttered open.

"Ugh, this is the part I hate," she mumbled grouchily, turning into Snape's touch and frowning when he pulled away.

"Believe me, I have no wish to get out of bed, either," Snape reassured as he roughly tossed his side of blankets to the foot of the bed and climbed out. "But dodging students and staff if you leave too late was never my intention. Come along."

Hermione watched silently as Snape began to find scattered articles of clothing in the dark and dress with deft precision. Finally snapping at herself to shift, she slid out of the comforting warmth of the bed and flinched when her feet met with the cool bedroom floor.

"I wasn't referring to sneaking around," said Hermione as she found her own clothing. "I mean leaving you, since I never know when I'm able to see you again."

"You see me nearly every day, and for an hour last I checked on Thursdays, unless a doppelganger has been taking your place in my class."

Hermione had been in the middle of wrestling her head and frizzed-out cloud of hair through the neck of her jumper, and paused to glower at the wizard.

"You know what I mean," she said. "I meant see _you_, as in Severus, not Professor."

"Is there really such a difference?" Snape asked blithely, now fully attired in his customary black suit. The only thing missing were his teaching robes and boots, which had been left in the front room. His arms were crossed as he watched Hermione fighting to her hair out of her face, and his lips twitched as though he was amused.

"Yes, there is!" Hermione snapped, tugging the jumper down in frustration and yanking her curls back. "And you know it.

Whether Snape agreed or disagreed, he refused to say, and turned to walk out of the bedroom. Hermione followed him to the front where they both put on their shoes.

"I think I can make it to the dormitory on my own," Hermione informed. "I doubt Malfoy is prowling about at this hour."

"Take this how you will, but at the present time I am not interested in what you think," Snape replied slowly, causing Hermione to reproachfully look at him. "Speaking of Mr Malfoy, he says you and Potter were, and I quote, 'sucking face' at the Three Broomsticks.

Hermione looked horrified at that comment. "I hope you didn't believe him!" she shuddered. "Harry is like my brother; I wouldn't be caught dead snogging him."

Snape was staring directly at her, the way he did when he was trying to either intimidate someone or decipher something. It had always been hard to tell which, and Hermione flushed slightly.

"Of course, you're the only one I'm kissing..." she trailed off, shyly smiling up at the professor.

Snape felt a frisson of satisfaction when he heard Hermione say that he was the only one she was kissing, and while he knew it terribly foolish of him to hope that it would remain like so, he needed something, anything to look forward to, no matter how hokey the sentiment might be.

"I knew Draco was fabricating,; I have only known him his entire life," Snape drawled.

Draco Malfoy was not only good-looking, a physical trait inherited from both parents, but when it came to prevarication, his prowess was nowhere near his father's. While Draco had enough pulchritude to make many of his female as well a handful of his male classmates believe that he was the Creator's most cherished and personal gift to earth, Snape knew that the child was full of it. Draco could charm a bee into giving up all its honey, but Snape was no fool, and from the off let the boy know that he would not tolerate lying or his mischief under any circumstances.

The professor knew that the whole story about Hermione and Potter kissing had been nothing but a ruse to try and distract him from the true issue at hand, which had been Draco giving Katie Belle the cursed necklace. Draco knew that Snape had some sort of issue with Potter; anyone that had been in the vicinity of the two were well aware of that fact. However, Draco apparently had thought himself slick enough to try and use that little snag to his advantage, a ploy which failed miserably.

Besides, Snape knew that Potter and the youngest Weasley girl often skulked off to little recesses in the castle to have a private moment away from friend and brother. More than once Snape was sure that the two had been hidden beneath Potter's Invisibility Cloak, kissing and hugging one another. The only thing that kept him from assigning both detention had been the fact that Miss Weasley never gave him a problem in class. She had always arrived on time, focused diligently upon her work, in Potions as well as Defence Against the Dark Arts. He never had to treat her like one of her fellow daft classmates, and her homework assignments never looked as if they had been chewed or spat upon.

No, Ginevra Weasley definitely was a far cry from most of her brothers. Percy had been just as studious but asked questions to the point where he made Hermione Granger look quiescent, and Snape had been glad to see the boy graduate and go off to annoy someone else.

"I don't mind you walking me back to the dormitory," Hermione was now saying. "But I feel as if I'm making you go out of your way for no reason."

"Your safety is reason enough," Snape told her curtly, effectively putting an end to her fretting. "Now, come along."

* * *

Things had somewhat returned to normal as the rest of January dragged on. Rumours about Katie Belle's sudden disappearance had flown throughout the school, until there were no fewer than ten versions, each one more outlandish than the last. Unfortunately, because of the entire incident, Filch had cheerfully suggested to the headmaster that further trips to Hogsmeade be cancelled, making sure to loudly say so in front of the students.

Everyone protested at that idea, even Neville Longbottom, who was usually mild-tempered. It was rare that Dumbledore was seen as of late, but he happened to be around that day, and smoothed over things by breezily suggesting that the students all needed a bit of fresh air on the weekends, and who wouldn't like to visit Honeydukes Sweetshop for the odd Cockroach Cluster?

Filch noticeably bristled at that comment, while Dumbledore winked at Hermione and Ginny, who had been standing nearby.

Things between Ron, Harry, and Hermione were also less strained. Hermione was still miffed at Harry for his continued usage of his illegal Potions textbook in class, but when it became apparent that he was not going to give it up any time soon, she abandoned all efforts of nagging him to turn it in.

Hermione's forced ignorance to the textbook last all of a week, after which she had been ready to pull out the rest of her hair, already having cut out a large chunk of her curls.

Wanting to focus on her own work in Potions class without Ron's interruptions that occurred every other minute, Hermione had pulled her cauldron next to Ernie Macmillan, knowing that he also preferred to work in silence.

Slughorn had gone on about Golpalott's Third Law for the first few minutes of the class, after asking who knew what it was. Hermione had been the first to thrust her hand into the air, rattling off its textbook definition at top speed, causing Slughorn to beam at her and award Gryffindor ten points, an honour which had been given to Harry for the past few months.

Once Slughorn left everyone to get started on their potions, Hermione had caught a glimpse of the panic-stricken look on Harry's face, also peering at Ron and noticing that he bore a similar visage, only his mouth was hanging open.

Hermione fought the urge to smirk at both boys, doing her best to resist leaning over their work table and saying "I told you so". She didn't have to look in Harry's book to know that there weren't clear and concise instructions on brewing something to the standards of Golpalott's Third Law, as the expression on his face plainly said enough.

Ignoring everyone and everything around her, Hermione feverishly worked on brewing her antidote. She had so many little bottles and phials taking up the majority of the desk that Ernie had to cram his own supplies onto one corner, moving carefully between them and his cauldron so as to not knock anything over. Ernie had been sweating and muttering through the thick, pungent steam wafting up from his cauldron when he frowned at Hermione, who had been in the middle of using her wand to sever a chunk of frizzy curls from the back of her head before dropping them into her own bubbling cauldron.

Stealing a glance at the clock which was positioned at the front of the classroom, Hermione cursed inwardly when she saw that she only had twenty minutes left. Her antidote still hadn't turned the correct shade of purple, and it was great cause for her annoyance. Ron and Harry were muttering within earshot, and she was able to hear Ron saying something to Harry about asking her to help them, to which Harry angrily told his friend no, that he would finish everything on his own.

_Smart thinking, _Hermione wryly thought of her best friend. Even if she wasn't in the middle of fighting with her own antidote, the last thing she felt like doing was helping Harry. She was hot, the newly shorn section of hair at the back of her neck was now itching and sticking uncomfortably to her clammy skin, and the last thing Hermione felt was charitable. No, she would _not_ help Harry or Ron, nor anyone else for that matter. Most people only talked to her in Potions class when they wanted something, unless it had been someone from Slytherin, in which case they always taunted.

Peering over at the little knot of Slytherins, Hermione took great pleasure in finding that Draco Malfoy was also met with some pother over his own potion. Crabbe and Goyle looked completely lost and were merely staring at one another in between glancing down at their books, Crabbe pausing to scratch his head with his wand, acting surprised when the tip sparked and singed off the hair at his temple. Goyle did not even bother with playing off the fact that he was scratching his bum while nearly boring a hole into his Potions text, then his cauldron, as if it both were somehow going to tell him how to brew his antidote.

When Slughorn gaily announced that time was up, Hermione had been trying to cram the last of her antidote into separate phials. Even though she needed more time to finish brewing, she was positive that her antidote was going to land her an A grade for the day. Harry nor Ron had finished their antidotes; Slughorn had taken one peek into Harry's cauldron and she noticed his usually bright smile falter. When the professor looked into Ron's cauldron, he almost retched, and Hermione almost felt bad when she noticed Ron becoming crestfallen.

Telling herself that one friend's failure had nothing to do with her success, Hermione knew that she shouldn't feel guilty if they hadn't done as well as her.

Slughorn frowned at Ernie's potion and briefly nodded at Hermione's. But when Harry called the professor back over to his cauldron, which Hermione knew for fact had been filled with some sort of brown gloppy mess, she nearly spit she became so angry when the messy black-haired wizard held up a hairy-looking, shriveled stone, small enough to fit in the palm of one's hand.

_Well, is he going to wet himself? _Hermione asked herself of Slughorn's incessant and unnecessary praise of Harry's sly way of using a bezoar to earn a passing grade. True, the professor gave Gryffindor another ten points for his 'efforts', a word which Hermione had difficult using. How difficult was it to waltz to the back of the classroom to get a bezoar out of the supply? Short of tripping on the way back and breaking your nose, it wasn't all that hard, and Hermione wanted to stomp over to Harry's table and yell in his face that he was cheating, and what would he do if one of his friend's were poisoned and there were no bezoars around?

While she had to concede that Slughorn still told Harry it was useful to know his antidotes, the elderly professor obviously had no qualms about him taking a shortcut, and gave him full passing marks for the day. Slughorn then went onto fawn about Harry's mum, Lily Potter, stating that was also a whiz at Potions.

It was glaringly obvious that the portion of the class who actually put forth a proper attempt at brewing their antidotes were wishing harm upon the Gryffindor wizard, whom was once again the center of attention in Professor Slughorn's world. Still, they all knew about Harry's parents being killed and weren't cruel enough to make any comments concerning his mother.

Yet, that harsh fact wasn't enough to change the expressions of pure loathing on their faces.

When Harry caught Hermione's eye and grinned cheekily at her, Hermione bit her tongue to keep from saying something that she would surely regret, and angrily sucked on the now throbbing flesh when she tasted blood.

Fervently hoping that Harry knew that it would behoove him to keep his distance, as she refused to be held responsible for her actions if he were to come near her, Hermione hastily cleared her work space and flounced out of the classroom without speaking to him nor Ron. Making it all of a few steps when Hermione heard someone running to catch up with her, she didn't bother with slowing down.

"Harry found the idea to use a bezoar in that book, didn't he?" she accusingly asked a broody Ron, catching sight of his flaming red hair when he finally caught up with her.

"Yep," he muttered, not in a talkative mood. "Now he's off talking to old Sluggy as if they're real pals. There was no reason for me to stick around."

"Yeah, well," Hermione gruffly replied, still walking with her chin stuck out.

Livid was an apt word to describe how Hermione was feeling. A chunk of her hair was missing, she was covered in sweat and soot, and her hands ached from stirring her antidote nonstop ever since she began brewing. Not to mention the ache in her lower back from hunching over her stupid cauldron that had become so hot and steamy, it felt as if she was leaning over a dragon's open mouth which happened to also contain the fiery pits of hell.

Hermione had been studying every book she was able to get her hands on ever since finding out she was a witch. She read to the point where either her mum or dad had to pry them out of her hands and make her come down for lunch or dinner. Once she got to Hogwarts, that studious aspect of her personality hadn't changed. Hermione felt that because she had grown up in the Muggle world, that she was ignorant to many things, down to the smallest nuances, and she didn't want to seem like a fool. That had been one motivating factor that contributed to her learning about this new facet of her life.

Up until that point, all of Hermione's stellar grades had been contingent upon the fact that she nearly lived in the library. So for Harry to sail through and receive passing marks without so much as doing actual work, never mind truly thinking for himself, it had her seeing red. And black, literally, as she crossed her eyes and noticed something on the tip of her nose.

"If you want to go to lunch, at least let me stop by the girls' bathroom to wash my face," Hermione told Ron, cringing as she rubbed at her nose and held out her hand to see black on her fingertips.

"I can regrow your hair back for you if you want," Ron glumly suggested. "Bill showed me the spell a long time ago. Mum hates it when we let our hair get too long and she always threatens to cut it in our sleep. Bill said the spell might come in handy, although I think he just keeps that ponytail because Fleur is forever playing with it."

Hermione sniggered at the idea of Mrs Weasley sneaking into her son's room to cut his hair while he slept. It wouldn't be that hard, if the rest of the Weasley men slept deeply the way Ron did.

"I think I can manage, but thank you," she told Ron. "Though you'd better visit the boys' room, too, you've got a bit of dirt on your cheek."

Frowning, Ron spat on his finger and rubbed at the offending spot.

"Is it gone?"

Sighing, Hermione shook her head. "No, Ronald. It's on the other side, but for goodness sake, your hands are dirty. _Don't _put them in your mouth again until you've washed them, OK?"

"Yes, Mum," Ron replied, a faint grin now on his face. "Are you going to cut my hair while I'm asleep next?"

Hermione laughed at his silliness as the two came across the lavatories, and she shoved Ron towards the door before going off to hers.

Harry eventually found his way to the Great Hall for lunch, warily slipping into place opposite Ron and next to Hermione.

"So Slughorn yelled at me and kicked me out of his office when I asked him about Horcruxes," Harry began as he pulled a plate of sandwiches in front of him.

"Well, what did you think would happen?" Hermione asked him snippily, breaking off a bit of her own sandwich. "I'm not all that surprised."

"Gee, thanks, Hermione," said Harry dryly.

"How come you didn't get two bezoars, then?" Ron now asked, sounding a bit petulant. "You saw the way my potion was turning out. I thought Slughorn was going to vomit right there next to me."

"Because it would have looked stupid if we'd both done it!" Harry snapped, glaring at Ron and Hermione.

Harry went on to rant about he had been trying to soften Slughorn up purely to be able to speak to him once class was over with and pump him for information about his earlier dealings with Voldemort, then known as Tom Riddle, but now that everything had gotten all mucked up, he didn't know what else to do. Hermione remained tight-lipped as she slowly ate her lunch, more concerned with breaking her food into little pieces than actually eating it. Ron was still ruffled at feeling slighted by his best friend, and had nothing more to say on the matter.

When it became obvious that Hermione and Ron were no longer speaking to him, Harry took his plate and moved further down the long table. He stood up so swiftly that it caused Hermione to flinch, but she made no moves to keep Harry next to her.

Usually it was Ron and Harry who would be in the middle of an argument, and Hermione would have to play mediator between the two. But ever since the start of school, Harry at times could be downright unbearable, and Hermione wondered if his head was getting a tad too big. True, it wasn't completely Harry's fault; he was only sixteen and Dumbledore had placed a heavy weight upon his shoulders, not giving the young wizard much choice in the matter.

But Hermione's still aching back and now feet refused to cave in to Harry's whinging. It was a crude thing to say, but she had been ready to tell him that if he was looking for sympathy, he ought to look in the dictionary between shite and syphilis, because that was the only way he would get any from her. It was Harry's luck that he flounced away before Hermione had been able to open her mouth.

Ron was still agitated but he certainly looked pleased, seeing as how someone was on his side. But Hermione felt that there were no sides to their friendship; right was right, and wrong was wrong, and Harry was definitely in the wrong for achieving his grades through cheating. Prior to that he didn't even know what a bezoar was, despite the fact that Snape had taught them all about them during their very first Potions class at Hogwarts. Of course, Snape had been cutting down Harry while simultaneously lecturing the class, but even so, Hermione managed to remember his whole spiel about bezoars and how they could save a person from most poisons.

_I could use another massage, _Hermione thought, wincing at the soreness in her back. She began reflecting back upon the night where Severus made her lie down across his bed so he could rub her shoulders. His thin fingers pressed deliciously into her skin and Hermione wished she had a reason to sneak down to his rooms later that night. It had been three weeks since they were last in each other's intimate company and she missed him.

"I nearly forgot that Apparition lessons start this Saturday," said Ron, sounding slightly more cheerful as he pulled a bowl of crisps over.

Thoughts of the professor now broken, Hermione neatly used her wand to place a hefty amount of crisps onto Ron's plate instead of allowing him to pluck them one by one from the bowl the way he always did.

"I've a few books in the dormitory if you'd like to read about Apparition first," Hermione offered, pushing the bowl back to the center of the table. "I've read them five times but I'm still not sure..."

"Weally, Hew-mone," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of half-chewed crisps. "Youw be fine."

"Ron, will you swallow before you choke? And thank you."

"Dunno why you haven't tried Apparating yet, seeing as you're of age," Ron continued after swallowing. "I'd be Apparating everywhere if I were you."

"Yes? And just where would I have been Apparating to?" Hermione archly inquired after taking a sip of juice. "You forget that I live in Muggle London; Muggles aren't used to see people appear out of thin air. And it's not as if I was able to leave Grimmauld Place this summer—_none _of us were, remember?"

"Oh, right."

"So, do you want the books or not?"

"No, thank you. Besides, I've listened to my brothers talking about Apparition loads of times, how hard can it be?"

* * *

Saturday morning was a cold and dreary day, although many students did not mind missing a Hogsmeade trip because of it, as they were beginning their Apparition lessons. Apparition turned out to be more work and less fun than everyone thought. It seemed that Hermione was the only one who understood that Apparating was serious business, for she emphatically nodded her head every time their Ministry Apparition instructor, Wilkie Tycross, a wisp of a wizard whom was transparent and so small that even the tiniest gust of wind seemed able to blow him away.

All of the tables and chairs in the Great Hall had been vanished, leaving a wide open space for everyone to practice in. The four Heads of House had been present, the Head of Slytherin firmly rooted by his class and looking bored.

Snape was not bored, however, even if he appeared like so. Ignoring the buzzing of chattering students surrounding him, including many of those from his own house, he was extremely interested in the snatches of conversation playing between Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"...suppose you won't tell us what we're gonna do next..."

"No! You idiot, not until it's time again..."

"...fine then, but I'm tired of transforming into a—"

_"Will you shut up?!" _Draco hissed under his breath as he whirled around, apoplectic and red-faced._ "_This is why I never tell you two blockheads anything ahead of time, because all you'll do it bugger it. You two could find a way to fuck up pudding if given the chance."

"Malfoy, be quiet and pay attention!" Professor McGonagall barked when his voice carried over in her direction.

Draco made some little noise under his breath but he did stop talking. Meanwhile, Snape was irritated, not because McGonagall had called out and chastised one of his students, but because he was no longer able to eavesdrop and find out what the three wizards had been up to.

The phrase 'manky Scots git' immediately came to mind, a thought which caused Snape to almost laugh out loud, something which would have surely frightened nearly everyone filling the Great Hall.

However, Snape's amusement would have been short-lived. Just as his three resident miscreants began speaking again, Potter somehow found a way to slither over to where the Slytherins were standing, and said something that had been cause for Draco to swear loudly and nearly pull out his wand.

_Potter, _Snape snarled to himself, just mentally saying the name leaving a nasty taste in his mouth. Why couldn't the boy stay over on his side? Because he thought it necessary to have a hand in everything, as if he was the only one that mattered. Snape wanted to tell him to mind his damned business and to take his arse back across to his friends, both of whom were now craning their necks to peer through the throng of students, trying to see where Harry had disappeared to.

They definitely noticed where Potter was standing after his appearance caused a slight kerfuffle, and all four Heads of Houses yelled in unison for everyone to be silent.

Once Tycross had finished droning on about the do's and don'ts of Apparition, along with something he kept lovingly referring to as 'the three D's' (which Snape was positive that the wizard had nearly gotten a brain-ache just coming up with the name, after which he surely sat in his shoebox-sized Ministry office, patting himself on the back and telling himself that he was terribly clever), the tiny wizard went around the room, calmly doling out instructions and tips.

Snape stood at a safe distance while watching the large group of sixth-years jerking and staggering in place as they valiantly fought at their first attempt of Apparition. He hoped they all had enough sense to not Apparate in his direction, although if a certain bushy-haired Gryffindor happened to pop up next to him, he truly wouldn't have minded.

Hermione was far across the room, and Snape was pleased to see that she was Apparating neatly within the confines of the large hoop a few feet away from her. Potter was back with his friends, and both he and Weasley looked as if they were doing some sort of macabre dance in place. Draco still looked decidedly mutinous and hadn't continued with his conversation with Tweedledum and Tweedledumber, opting to practice in an emptier area of the room.

It could have been their argument that left Crabbe and Goyle unfocused, or the fact that they were merely thick-headed which cause them difficulty, or perhaps both. But the two were wobbling and threatening to tip over at any second, and Snape fervently prayed that he would not have to reattach any body part on either wizard.

Crabbe seemed to have an aversion to soap, and Snape almost believed that the boy never showered, only he had encountered him coming out of the boys' showers on more than one occasion. Perhaps he merely sprinted through the stream of water, only to get out and dry himself the way a dog would. As for Goyle, he desperately needed to be introduced and intimately acquainted with a toothbrush and toothpaste.

Snape knew that he didn't have the world's prettiest set of teeth, as going to the dentist had been unheard of when he was growing up. Later on, years of smoking cigarettes as well as consuming multiple cups of tea or coffee a day had caused severe discolouring to his enamel. He knew that he could have fixed them by way of magic when he became older, but seeing as how it would have made no difference, his teeth were never a pressing issue. But no one could ever say that Severus Snape could knock someone flat on their back by merely breathing into their face.

Anyway, he breath couldn't have been that bad, not judging by the way Hermione was always so keen to kiss him.

A horrible screech drew his as well as the other professors' attention to the side of the room. A girl from Hufflepuff had become separated from her leg and was quickly reduced to a gibbering state. Snape was immune to the crying, as he encountered more crying students over the past years than the trees had leaves. it still didn't mean that he liked the sound, and after telling the sobbing girl that crying would make her pain worse, she hiccupped yet ended her wailing. Professor Sprout continued talking gently to her student, and it only took a few seconds for the professors to reattach Susan Bones' leg.

Tycross had continued gliding around the room, as if he were some odd-looking spectral judge at a dog show instead of Apparition lessons where losing one's limbs were a sure threat.

Snape longed for the solitude of his rooms, where he would be free to move around without being in danger of tripping over a student. This one time of the year was always a pain in the arse for him, because it meant giving up his Saturday mornings to watch a group of students stumbling around. He had long wormed his way out of chaperoning on trips to Hogsmeade, and the castle was blessedly empty and quiet, save for the remaining students whom were too young to go. But in light of recent events, Dumbledore mentioned that Filch's idea of cancelling further trips to Hogsmeade should be taken into consideration.

Many of the professors agreed, and it was just as well; besides the threat of another attack, no one felt like going out into the abysmally cold, wet weather. It was fine for the kids as they were immune to the damp, but once the chill settled into old bones, it took forever to get it out.

When the hour of torture/amusement was over, Snape hastily retreated to his dungeons, where he sat before the hearth, reveling in the silence.

It was a few days before Hermione's anger with Harry over Potions class fizzled. She figured that he would eventually hang himself by a rope of dishonesty, because she really did not foresee anything good happening where that book was concerned. Had Snape been teaching Potions class, he would most likely have failed Harry for not following directions, never mind the fact that a bezoar was in fact one solution to the being poisoned.

Harry was also back on Ron's good side, and Hermione hoped it would last for longer than a week at a time.

* * *

January rolled into February, and the weather was still just as dismal. More parents had come to collect their children from school once word got out that students were being attacked. Of course, everything had been blown out of proportion, and one parent of first-year twin girls in Gryffindor had been in hysterics, going by hearsay that a child had died at Hogwarts. The older witch refused to be placated by the headmaster, and removed her daughters that day.

Tension was thick throughout Hogwarts, and to add insult to injury, all further trips to Hogsmeade had been cancelled. The students had been in an uproar about their outings being suspended indefinitely, and loudly voiced their displeasure whenever they were within earshot of certain staff.

To diffuse some of the tension, Dumbledore suggested a small celebration for Valentine's day would be in order. He left Flitwick in charge of decorating the Great Hall and any other areas the Charms professor saw fit.

Snape did not see how charming everything a lurid shade of pink or red would diffuse _anything. _Thursday night, he had passed Flitwick in the Great Hall, who was humming and using his wand to hang pink and red streamers around. Little paper hearts had been fastened to various surfaces, and Snape blanched when he saw at least three covering the back of his usual chair upon the staff dais.

It took Snape two seconds flat to step down from the dais and stalk over to Flitwick, who had tossed his jacket on top of a nearby table and was clad in his vest and shirtsleeves. He was perched on a low stool and kept looking up thoughtfully at a bare patch of space behind the entrance doors to the Great Hall, obviously pondering what sickly decorations he could place there next.

Flitwick had been so deep into his thoughts that he never noticed Snape making his way behind him, even though he hadn't exactly been trying to keep quiet.

"Flitwick," Snape began smoothly. "What the hell is that stuck to my chair?"

"What? Oh, Severus, it's you," Flitwick replied, barely casting a second glance over his shoulder as he continued staring up at the wall. "Just a few hearts, I thought they would liven up the area."

"I know that they're hearts, I can see that. Perhaps the better question is _why_ are they on my chair?"

"Because Dumbledore likes them, so I put them everywhere. Why, do you not care for them?" Filius squeaked out.

Snape glared so fiercely at the tiny professor that it was a miracle Flitwich didn't topple over. Drawing himself up to his full height, black teaching robes and all, Snape cut an imposing figure and it was plain that there was nothing about the wizard that remotely suggested him being the type to like pink heart-shaped paper.

Snape figured that he had been scowling at Flitwick because he said in his squeaky voice, "They'll only be on your chair for tomorrow, Severus. Surely a few hours won't kill you?"

The Charms professor then gave a high-pitched laugh at his own joke, and Snape told himself that if Flitwick were to take a nosedive to the floor, he would promptly step back.

"Goodnight, Severus!" Flitwick jovially called behind him as he stormed out of the Great Hall.

Friday morning, to his intense horror, instead of the usual gold dishware and utensils set out along each table, Snape found ugly pink things in its place. Ready to protest at being forced to eat off of plates that resembled a shade of medicine designed for digestion conditions, Snape hurriedly pulled the tray of toast in front of him, resolving to eat quickly and rid himself of the bright-pink nightmare.

Things weren't as gaudy as when Pouf-Master Lockhart had taken over, and blessedly there were no cherubs flying about or tiny hearts raining down from the ceiling. There was only so much Snape could take and if he had been forced to pick hearts and glitter out of his hair in between classes, then someone would have to pay.

The students, on the other hand, had immediately squealed with delight when they walked into the Great Hall. Snape noticed that some of the witches from Slytherin house were less surly that morning, and they kept casting furtive glances at certain male classmates.

_Nothing but a harbinger of racing hormones, _Snape sniped to himself as he accidentally put too much butter on his toast.

The Golden Trio had made their way into the Great Hall, the female member the only lone party in the bunch. Soon as the three strolled in, the looks on their faces had been enough to nearly make Snape snort into his cup of coffee. Weasley looked as if he had just stepped into a pile of dung, while Potter seemed as if he was reliving some great past trauma.

Something about a young Ravenclaw witch that Potter briefly went around with came to mind, and Snape was annoyed that he was even privy to such drivel. Cho Chang, he remembered, had gone on a disastrous date with Potter in Madam Puddifoot's teashop in Hogsmeade. For reasons only known to his colleagues at the time, Madam Hooch, Professor Vector, and Madam Sprout saw fit to discuss the pointless trivia at great length no less one morning at the staff table.

Snape did not want to know about Potter and his failed date with the young Ravenclaw. He did not give a damn about how 'adorable' the two were together, as emphatically gushed by Madam Sprout, and he certainly hadn't wanted to hear about their argument in the tea shop!

Teenaged couples argued with one another from sun up till sun down, a fact which was not likely to change. Snape knew this, he was sure his colleagues knew this, so why they had droned on about the two had been a mystery to him. But he had been trapped between Vector and McGonagall and had been unable to move, thus was forced to hear the entire asinine conversation. By the time they finished speaking, Snape needed cotton for his bleeding ears, as well as shock therapy to jump start his numb brain. It had been comical for some of the greatest minds at Hogwarts to sit gossiping over breakfast about a couple of their students, as though there was nothing more important to discuss at that moment.

Umbridge had been absent from breakfast that morning, and Snape would have loved to discuss a way in which they could all slip a non-traceable potion into her afternoon pot of tea. But no, Potter and Miss Chang had been of the utmost importance.

Peering down at the Gryffindor table, Snape now saw that Lavender Brown was trying to feed Weasley bits of her toast, which he dutifully accepted. Potter and Miss Weasley looked as if they were trying not to laugh, and Hermione was ignoring them both, slowly spooning porridge into her mouth while reading a book.

Snape remembered that he too, used to keep a book with him at all times, and could always be found reading at every meal.

Many of his fellow Slytherins could never figure out why Snape always had his head stuck in a book. Of all people, Mulciber had the nerve to ask why Snape had to read all the time. Lucius had cut in, smoothly defending his friend by pointing out that perhaps Severus did not wish to graduate Hogwarts with only having learned the best spots to steal a quick shag, like him. It had been common knowledge that Mulciber taunted and harassed every of age witch that crossed his path, purely because they would never give him the time of day. Lucius neatly drew attention upon that fact and Mulciber's face had turned an ugly shade of red, but he knew not to challenge the blond wizard.

Mulciber had a sadistic side that was nearly unmatched by some of the most questionable wizards, and Snape was surprised that the man hadn't grown up to be a serial rapist. He definitely had torture perfected to a fine art, as the Imperius Curse was his favourite.

The sudden appearance of owls in the Great Hall broke Snape's train of thought. Little boxes and envelopes were delivered to each recipient, and judging by the squeals from a few students, Valentine's day gifts and messages. A standard Hogwarts carrier, a brown barn owl, had dropped something near Hermione's pink plate, and she set down her book to pick it up.

Watching intently as she picked up what looked like a large white envelope, Snape saw Hermione ignoring the sizeable box that had also been delivered to pull out what appeared to be a flashy Valentine's card. Staring at it for awhile before breaking out into a fit of uncharacteristic giggles, Snape wondered who was sending the young witch missives that made her face light up so. He doubted it was that brainless oaf she had gone to the Yule Ball with; adept at Quidditch he might have been, it was plain that the lad could barely string two sentences together on paper. It was unlikely that another student from Hogwarts had sent her something via owl, unless they were aiming for suaveness.

_Highly unlikely._

The young men at Hogwarts, while possibly coming from a cultivated family, still held as much polish and grace as a house-elf. Many of them were led around by the appendage between their legs, and were over-eager to the point where it made them seem desperate.

Snape hoped that Hermione knew enough to not cast her pearls before swine. McLaggen had been prime example of who a young woman should not date. As for Krum...Hermione had never mentioned the burly youth getting too friendly with her, but Snape put nothing past him.

_Because you are so much better. Bad enough that you're cavorting with the girl, but now you're intent on castrating anyone that comes near her? You are as bad as those idiot boys._

Right then, a Hufflepuff, whom Snape knew was only fourteen yet still looked big and old enough to be alumni, began pelting cornflakes at his neighbour.

_No; not as bad._

* * *

As nonverbally promised, Snape left the hideous paper hearts on his chair. However, much later that evening, he had been patrolling the corridors and took a detour to the Great Hall, using his wand to incinerate the offending items. He had just walked back into the corridor, smug with satisfaction when he noticed that the air was charged, as if someone or something was standing nearby.

Snape always patrolled with his wand out, although he usually used it to cast a jinx at Peeves whenever the poltergeist got too out of hand, or to scare unsuspecting students that were hiding in a corner, snogging or attempting to do worse.

Wand out in front of him, Snape walked over to a spot against the wall, cautiously as if he was trying to sense something. Using the butt end of his wand, he prodded along the thin air until hitting something soft.

"Should I bother to ask what it is you are doing?"

"What do you think?"

"Let's see, perhaps taking a feather out of Potter's hat by doing the opposite of what you were told?"

"Not exactly...it's nearly a full moon and I came to see if you wanted some help with making Lupin's Wolfsbane."

Snape heaved a sigh. "How long have you been standing here for?"

"Long enough to see you walk into the Great Hall and come back out, looking as if you'd just assigned someone detention. You didn't, did you? Was someone actually in there?"

"No, Miss Granger, I—damn it, I feel like an arse talking to you with that ridiculous cloak on. Just be quiet and follow me."

Snape was sure that the very much invisible Hermione was giggling beneath Potter's Invisibility Cloak. Through the darkened corridors of Hogwarts they walked, Snape leading the way with Hermione walking next to him. The oversized cloak had completely engulfed her petite form, and the only indication of her presence was a slight breeze whenever she moved. Still feeling like a heel as Snape led the way down to the dungeons and into his private laboratory, he could not wait to snatch the length of slippery fabric off Hermione.

"Hello," she greeted brightly once her face was revealed. Hermione was smiling broadly, and dressed in a thick striped jumper and jeans; in her hands was a large, flat box with fancy gold writing on its lid.

"Silly girl," said Snape, frowning. "Took it upon yourself to follow the lunar charts, did you?"

"Maybe," Hermione answered with a shrug, walking over to the work table and pulling up a stool next to it.

Snape began pulling out everything needed to make the Wolfsbane while Hermione quietly watched, hunched over with her hands folded on the tabletop.

"Why are you sitting that way?"

"Stomachache."

"Perhaps one too many chocolates from your secret admirer?"

"What?"

"I noticed you received fan mail this morning."

Snape had his head bent and was adding pinches of things to his cauldron, his eyes averted from Hermione's. It took him a second to look up to notice that she was pushing something in his direction, a small grin on her lips.

"I suppose you're talking about this?" she asked, biting down on her bottom lip.

Snape had just picked up his wand and set it back down to pluck the cream-coloured envelope from Hermione's hand. Withdrawing the card and perusing its insides for a moment, his lip curled slightly and he handed the card back to Hermione.

"My dad gives me one every year, along with fancy chocolates," she explained. "Mum doesn't know about the chocolates, though. She doesn't approve of the sugar, but I thought I could share them with you," Hermione continued, gesturing to the box.

"How kind of you," Snape replied. "Very well, then, once you've finished the Wolfsbane," he went on smoothly. "After all, you did offer."

Hermione gave a mocking laugh, but she did get down from her stool and walk around the table to take over. She'd tied her hair back before leaving the dormitory, remembering how hot it became the last time she brewed for Snape. While it took the same amount of time as before to brew the complicated potion, its execution was smoother than before as Hermione knew what to expect.

Once the Wolfsbane was finished and the filled goblet sent off to Dumbledore's office, Snape and Hermione scrubbed their hands at the basin in the corner and sat on a sofa that had been conjured out of an old desk. The opened box of chocolates was between them, and Hermione was pleased to see that Severus was enjoying them.

"So I presume that you have Potter's map," he began, to which Hermione nodded. "But how did you manage to get his cloak as well?"

Hermione chewed and swallowed the remaining bit of truffle in her mouth, tilting her head to the side and looking as Snape. "I begged at first, and when that didn't work, I used blackmail."

"Did you really?" Snape asked, his black eyes glittering mischievously.

Hermione held her thumb and forefinger two inches apart.

"Why, Miss Granger, this is a surprise. First you're sneaking out, now you're conning Potter into using his belongings. I should warn you, the headmaster can see through that cloak."

"I figured that much," Hermione replied. "Although I hardly see Professor Dumbledore anymore. It's like he's hardly ever here."

_How very keen you are, witch, _Snape thought wryly. Dumbledore's appearances had been sporadic, but somehow he was always present long enough to summon him at the damnedest times.

Speaking of keen, Snape noticed that Hermione was hunching over again.

"Is there a problem I should be aware of?"

"No, it's nothing," Hermione assured. "Well, nothing you'd want to know about, at least."

"Try me."

"No! It's embarrassing."

"Hermione, I sincerely doubt that you could say something that would embarrass me."

"Not you...me!"

"As I said before—try me."

Moaning as if she was about to divulge some great mystery, Hermione popped another truffle into her mouth and threw one hand into the air. "I've got my period, all right?" she blurted out, cringing. "Told you that you didn't want to know."

Snape narrowed his eyes at her. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" he chided sharply. "Instead you're sitting here like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, trying to contain your grimaces. I've already seen _all _of you, and you have the nerve to say that you're embarrassed? You truly are a silly girl."

"Well...!"

Snape withdrew his wand and briskly conjured a small crystal phial, and pulling out its stopper, handed it to Hermione. Without bothering to ask what the phial contained, Hermione swallowed the light blue liquid in one go, and relief immediately registered on her face.

"Thank you," she murmured, sinking back into the sofa cushions. "That is much better."

"Before you do that and fall asleep, turn over," Snape directed as he covered the box of chocolates and set it down next to the sofa.

Hermione toed off her trainers and stretched out face down on the sofa, eager for what she knew was coming when Snape straddled the back of her thighs. His cool, thin fingers pushed her jumper up until her entire back was exposed, and Hermione felt her bra being unsnapped. Flinching when she felt something cold being dripped onto her back, Hermione surmised that Snape used a nonverbal spell to place something on her skin, what felt like oil. It was cold since it came from the tip of his wand, but the oil soon warmed up as his fingers massaged it into her lower back.

"Do you always keep pain potion on hand to conjure out of thin air?" Hermione mumbled into the side of her arm, where her face was pressed against.

"Miss Granger, where else do you think all of the potions in the hospital wing come from?"

"Hermione."

"Hermione. They don't sprout legs and walk up of their own volition. Have you any idea how many menstruating, hormonal females this school contains? More than there are stars in the sky, it seems. I keep some of everything on hand, lest I find myself tethered to a classroom brewing for all hours of the day and night."

Hermione went silent, turning that bit of information over in her mind. Countless times she and her friends had gone up to the hospital wing to get something from Madam Pomfrey for their cramps, but up until now it had never dawned on her that Snape had been the one to brew it. But who else would have brewed their bitter-tasting liquid relief? Up until now, Snape was the only Potions master at Hogwarts, and Hermione knew that Slughorn was not the type to brew anything in large quantities outside of regular classroom hours. The only potions he made were for demonstration, and there was usually just enough in the phial.

"Do you really believe that you are the first witch I've come across with this...issue?" Snape asked, humour colouring his voice as he ran his thumbs up the length of Hermione's spine.

"No, but..." she trailed off, becoming too relaxed to finish her thought.

"I've been Head of Slytherin House for over ten years, not to mention the fact that I've taught I don't know how many classes. I am well familiar with that look of horror that ensues following the arrival of an unexpected cycle, or an accident, as it were."

Hermione was surprised that her cheeks weren't red and hot as an open flame, considering the way Severus was talking in great detail just how much he knew about periods and the intricacies associated with them. Ron and Harry knew about periods, but they barely noticed the few times Hermione had to make a sudden mad dash for the lavatory.

With the quiet witch now gone pliant beneath his hands, Snape found it amusing that Hermione had been ashamed to tell him the reason for her feeling poorly. The idea was ludicrous, considering that he had seen, kissed, touched and tasted just about every inch of her delectable body. He did things to her that he had never done with another witch, things that he never knew he wanted to do until she came along. Hermione had also seen more of him than any other, and Snape fully planned on keeping it that way.

He understood why she felt embarrassed; during his first year of teaching, one of his second-year students had asked to be excused during class, only to return with tears falling down her cheeks. The young girl had obviously forgotten that she was talking to a teacher who had a reputation for not being fussed with anyone's personal affairs, but had been so terrified that she went up to his desk and claimed the need for the hospital wing because she thought she was dying.

Snape hadn't known what to make of the trembling girl until she stammered that she was bleeding. He never let her finish her sentence, for he had nearly knocked over his chair in hastily standing up, swiftly yet calmly ushering the girl out of his classroom, barking at any nosy students to keep their eyes on their work. Snape had only been twenty at the time, and his only experience in dealing with twelve-year-old girls had been with his former best friend, and they definitely never spoke of _that._He wondered what the hell sort of mother would send her girl child off to school without explaining the facts of life beforehand.

If Snape were the sort to believe in that Divination tripe, he would have thanked his lucky stars that Madam Sprout happened to be passing his classroom at that moment, for he was able to foist the tearful girl off onto the older witch. Promising to have the student's belongings sent up to the hospital wing, Snape silently vowed that he would find himself a nice stiff drink once the day was over with. Incidentally, that had been his first and last time tasting firewhisky. At least the fiery brown liquid served its purpose, because his nerves had no longer been on edge.

"Are you falling asleep?" Snape asked when he heard Hermione let out a yawn.

"No," she replied, the delay in her response telling on her.

"You shouldn't tell lies, Hermione," said Snape as he gripped her by the waist and tugged for her to sit up. "You're no good at it."

"I know, you told me so a while ago," Hermione laughed, pushing at Snape to sit back against the sofa arm and lying with her back to his chest. "Being a great liar was never one of my aspirations."

"I hope that remains like so," Snape mused under his breath, waiting for Hermione to stop wriggling once she was in a comfortable position.

His arms were around her torso, her head tucked beneath his chin. Even though Hermione had denied it, Snape knew that she had been ready to fall asleep, which was why he made her move. He knew that he should have urged her to put her shoes back on so he could walk her back to the dormitory, but she felt good in his arms and making her move was the last thing on his mind.

Snape had not been planning on seeing Hermione that evening. As always, the tenacious witch would somehow make it possible to have her way. The Wolfsbane she brewed came out perfectly, and Snape didn't mind her assistance. He had been more pleased than he let onto when she showed him the Valentine's card from her father, and immediately Snape felt foolish for thinking that it had been sent from another boy. But the chocolates she shared with him were definitely top notch, and not the sugary, too sweet rubbish sold in Honeydukes that most of the students seemed to prefer. The truffles he bit into were made with expensive dark cocoa. The taste was rich and bittersweet with hints of jasmine. Snape never tasted truffles made with jasmine and found that they were divine.

Besides, eating them with Hermione was a pleasant way to end his evening.

Hermione had momentarily sat up to reach to the end of the couch, clumsily prying the dragon hide boots off his feet and placing them on the floor. She then repositioned herself between his legs and allowed her fuzzy sock-covered feet to rest against his, which were covered in their usual black trouser socks.

"I think I will take a little nap," Hermione announced, nuzzling her face against Snape's white shirt. He had taken off his flowing teacher robes and frock coat before they began brewing the Wolfsbane, and both items had been hung on a peg across the room.

"Is that right?" Snape asked quietly, peering down at the top of Hermione's curly head. When he felt her nod, Snape shook his head and summoned his teaching robes, covering them both with it.

Hermione was almost purring contentedly, her body growing limp the closer she came to falling asleep, until she shifted in his arms.

"What were you doing in the Great Hall before you found me?"

Silence.

"I went to take those stupid hearts off my chair that Flitwick insisted on charming into place," Snape finally answered, curling up his lip in memory of the horrid decorations." Any more inquiries?"

"Nope," Hermione replied, shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Take your nap, Hermione. I'll wake you when it's time to go up."

"All right," she said, her voice growing fainter. "And I missed you, that was the other reason I made Harry loan me his cloak. I wanted to see you..." she trailed off before falling asleep.

* * *

**_A/N: So those truffles are real and outrageously expensive but are to DIE for! Teuscher jasmine truffles. Oh, and that period thing? Yup, happened to my mother's friend when she was nine or ten. Apparently folks thought if they never told their daughters about getting their periods that it would never happen. WRONG! Poor girl ran home, crying talking about someone cut her, and how she was dying. Thank you to CrMediagal for chiming in with my silliness on the Valentine's Day scene! _**


	32. Chapter 32

_**A/N: I am so sorry for the interruption in my weekly updates. I only had one day off from work last week because of a change in my days off and updating was outright impossible. And now...my therapist says I have tendinitis in my hand, as if breaking my wrist wasn't enough :) Technically I shouldn't be writing as she said do NOTHING with my hand, but I must be a glutton for punishment. Plus, I think I only replied to three reviews from my last update which I feel HORRIBLE about, because I hate making people feel as if they're being ignored when I'm grateful for their reviews and such. So not the case, I'm just literally in pain 24/7 while this stupid hand heals. *deep breath* Okay so this is a little interlude before...more drama? I have a LOT more of this story to go if you can't tell. :D As always THANK YOU IMMENSELY for the reviews, alerts, favorites, pms, I love it all. Even if you left a little heart in the review box, I am very pleased. By all means let me know what you think, as your thoughts and ideas keep this thing flowing! **_

* * *

Between barely making progress in the weekend Apparation lessons and not being able to roam freely about Hogsmeade, Ron was in rare form.

"We can still go for practice sessions," Hermione pointed out one afternoon in an attempt to cheer Ron up.

"Right," Ron said plaintively. "I won't be able to go into Honeydukes, but I can accidentally bang into its wall when I take a wrong turn at Apparation, all with Twycross and his bloody three D's looking on and giving critique. Gee, that sounds great."

"Well, you haven't gotten the hang of Apparation yet, but at least you didn't Splinch yourself," said Harry without looking up, hunched over and frowning slightly at his Marauder's Map.

The three were sat in the Gryffindor common room after dinner that Friday evening. Their earlier row which started in Potions had been forgotten about, and the boys came to the library where they had found Hermione, her bushy head hidden behind a large stack of books. Hermione had put the Horcrux research on hold briefly to tend to her own schoolwork. In the middle of a paragraph, she impatiently hissed at Ron and Harry to give her a minute, snatching back her book when Ron tried to take it out of her hand. It was sheer luck that Madam Pince hadn't been nearby, else she would have put all three of them out her library for making noise, something the boys definitely would not have minded. However, Hermione finally agreed to momentarily put off her studying when Ron threatened to take a bite out of her book after saying that he was hungry enough to do so.

Once they finally got to dinner, Ron gorged himself to the point where he almost had to be rolled out of the Great Hall. Now he was in his favourite chair beside the hearth in the Gryffindor common room, one leg slung over its arm while he rubbed his belly. Harry was in the chair opposite Ron, and Hermione was cross-legged on the floor, reading a slightly wrinkled copy of the _Daily Prophet._

A sprinkle of students were also in the common room, some listening to the radio (Ron had paused to ask Dean to turn up the volume, as his favourite song by _The Harpies _was playing), while others carried on conversations with their mates. Parvati was chewing Lavender's ear off, going on about her new beau and showing her the charm bracelet he had given her for Valentine's day. Harry and Hermione overheard the entire conversation and both tried not to laugh as they simultaneously thought about the necklace that Lavender had given Ron that past Christmas, which spelled out _My Sweetheart _in fancy script. The week before Valentine's Day, Harry had joked that Lavender would give him a matching bracelet. Relief was an underwhelming word to describe how Ron felt when that weekend there was no bracelet, and he cheerfully passed on the sweets he had purchased for Lavender.

The three had been perplexed as to why Lavender thought Ron would like, never mind wear, something that most seventeen-year-old boys wouldn't be caught dead with.

"I'm surprised Neville didn't Splinch himself," Ron now chuckled. "I thought he would've been the first one to leave bits of himself around."

"Ron, that's not funny!" Hermione said firmly, briefly turning to glare at him.

During the last practice a handful of students had become Splinched, and the sounds of their cries had been horrifying. One boy managed to not make any noise, but passed out promptly after he had been reunited with his arm. He had been standing less than a foot away from Hermione and she witnessed the whole thing, and it took nearly until the next afternoon for her to rid her mind of that accident.

Harry was no better than Ron when it came to Apparition, but explained that he still wasn't all that fond of it. He was more concerned with each failed attempt to speak with Slughorn to get the memory that Dumbledore had been pressing him about for the longest.

"I still prefer flying," Harry said, "but I will admit that Apparition seems convenient, even if it still makes me want to vomit."

"You have bigger things to worry about," Hermione pointed out. "Next time you try to speak to Slughorn, maybe you should be a little more tactful instead of just bombarding him with questions."

"Hermione, I asked him politely as possible," Harry replied, sounding slightly offended. "What do you suggest, Hedwig delivering a hand-written invitation for us to have a chat over tea and scones?"

"Maybe you can do one another's hair," Ron suggested. "You can help him find a new way to wear his comb-over."

"No, but you know how you can get," Hermione said distractedly, completely absorbed in her newspaper and ignoring Ron's comment. She then looked up to find Harry scowling at her. "Harry, I don't mean to be insensitive, but you sometimes have this habit of jumping headfirst into things instead of treading a level course."

Harry continued to look daggers at Hermione, who was pointedly ignoring him by hiding behind the _Prophet._ "I guess you have a point," he finally admitted, thinking back to the way he just blurted out his question about Horcruxes to Slughorn. "He looked scared when I asked him, as if he was in some sort of trouble."

"Well, that's not surprising," Ron added. "If it's something to do with"— he lowered his voice— "You-Know-Who, then I would be scared too. I'd probably be waiting for Aurors to show up on my doorstep at any moment."

"Yeah, I 'spose," Harry mumbled. "Fine, then. I'll try your way, Hermione. I'll go for _subtle, _although it's not likely to make a huge difference."

"Just try, Harry," Hermione pleaded, now putting down the paper. "OK? It's obvious that Dumbledore needs you else he wouldn't have asked. And I'll still try the library to see if I can find anything."

"But you've been searching the library for how long? You still haven't found anything," Ron unhelpfully pointed out.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Hermione snapped, "but unless you've got a better idea the library is the only thing I can think of. I notice that you haven't bothered to help me look, either."

"Well, neither has Harry!" Ron protested, his mouth hanging open. "Why do I get yelled at?"

"Because you're the only one daft enough to say something about Hermione and her beloved library," Harry sniggered, shaking his head. "Even I know better than that."

Just then a small black, white, and brown cat slithered its way next to Hermione and plopped down on top of her bent knee.

"Whose cat is that?" Ron asked, eyeing the marbelised furball of fluff that was nuzzling its head against Hermione's hand, wanting to be petted.

"Peg," Hermione simply answered, tickling the wriggling cat beneath its chin.

"Who's Peg?"

"Fourth-year, sandy hair and glasses," Hermione answered, trying to jog Ron's short-term memory.

"Nope, no idea."

"Honestly, Ron. You're a prefect; the least you could do is know who your fellow Housemates are!"

"Pardon me for not being the bloody mayor of Gryffindor House!"

Dennis Creevey had been sitting nearby with Nigel, a younger student who was in awe of Harry and Ron and followed them around whenever possible. Both boys' mouths dropped open and they looked positively scandalised when Ron continued ranting, expressing himself by usage of particularly colourful words, until Hermione threatened to wash his mouth out with soap if he did not stop swearing.

"Crookshanks is going to pop out of nowhere and attack that cat for sitting in his space," Ron said, thankfully having finished with his bout of foul language.

"Crookshanks is dignified; he would never fight," Hermione sniffed, continuing to stroke the cat behind the ears. "Besides, he gets along with Marble."

"Who's Marble?"

"Peg's cat, Ronald! The cat on my lap."

"Oh."

"Ron," Harry began. "I know we haven't had a game in a while...but are you sure you weren't hit with a rogue bludger last go around?"

While the two carried on with their friendly bickering, a plan to help Harry was forming in Hermione's mind. It was obvious that Harry had no idea on how to lure information from someone. Hermione would easily admit that she had never been a person who mastered the art of the gift of gab, merely relying on politely asking for something she needed, hoping a nice tone would be enough. But Slughorn required different tactics, and Hermione knew just the person to ask for advice.

"Harry, I need to borrow your cloak and map again, if you don't mind."

Just as Harry was telling Hermione 'yes', Ron spun round to look her in the eye.

"One day you're gonna have to tell us how you sneak out so much without getting detention," he said peevishly.

"I'm not telling you anything," Hermione replied. "And besides, there are some things you're just better off not knowing."

"You've got that right. Dunno why Twycross felt bothered enough to tell us the one hundred ways someone can Splinch themselves and what happens if they do. I really didn't need to hear about some bloke being separated from his bits and how his mates had to Apparate back across the country just to find them."

"Ron's right," Harry said with a small shudder as he remembered the gory tale. All of the males had reflexively covered their groins when they heard about the wizard being Splinched in a most sensitive area, but at least they focused more during the lesson. "But yeah, Hermione. You can borrow them, even if you won't tell us what you're up to."

"Never you mind," she said briskly. "I'll come back for them after patrols."

* * *

Crookshanks wouldn't have been too upset about his mistress' lap being occupied by another, for he was being well tended by another.

The squashed faced half-kneazle had long grown tired of the hullabaloo in the Gryffindor common room, and the draughty corridors had been too brisk for him to linger about. Of course, the corridors down in the dungeon level of the school wasn't much warmer, but the feline knew of a cosier spot where he would be welcomed, even if by a person that did not physically appear to be pleased by his presence.

Within the past month or so Snape had become accustomed to hearing the slight scratching coming from the base of his door at odd hours of the evening. The first time Crookshanks showed up at his room had been moments before Snape was due for a meeting with Dumbledore. After Snape opened the door to find thin air in front of him, he looked down to see the bright orange cat at his feet, who then sauntered in like he owned the place, rubbed up against Snape's legs and then tottered off to curl up before the dying embers at the hearth. Snape stood in shock for a few seconds, finally closing his door and returning to his desk.

Multiple times after that, Snape and Crookshanks sat in the quiet dark of his study, the cat snoozing before the fire while the professor graded essays. The previous Sunday the two had been sitting for so long that Snape nearly forgot to eat dinner. Crookshanks, however, was hungry and let Snape know in no uncertain terms that he was ready to be fed.

The professor had been correcting third-years' essays on vampires, resisting the urge to write large red number ones on most of them. It was plain that most of his students could have a vampire staring them in the face and they still would not be able to recognise it. One student had clearly read _Dracula _one too many times, as Snape wondered if they had channeled Bram Stoker to help him with his essay. That student still somehow managed to receive higher marks than the rest of his classmates.

Snape had just been in the middle of writing a number four in the top right-hand corner of the parchment when Crookshanks jumped onto his desk, landing on top of the pile of essays. The half-kneazle stared up at the frowning wizard, whom merely stared back at him as if waiting for something.

When Snape obviously didn't get the hint fast enough, Crookshanks batted his paw at the wizard's hand which had been curved around a long plume-tipped quill, knocking it out of his fingers and making it clatter down onto the desk.

"What do you want, you little blighter?" Snape asked, picking his quill up and trying to push the cat away from his work. But Crookshanks anchored himself into place, swiping his small pink tongue down his left paw when Snape stopped shoving him.

"You can't stay there all night."

_Lick, lick._

"Move, you infernal creature!"

_Lick, pause, lick._

"Is this some sort of attempt to let me know that you require something?"

_Stare._

"If you even _think _about wetting my desk..."

Just then Snape's empty stomach growled tellingly, and the sound made Crookshanks' tail shoot up.

"Is that it? You need to be fed?"

Crookshanks looked up and shuffled off the pile of essays. He sauntered to the edge of Snape's desk, cast a lingering glance at the glowering wizard over his shoulder, and leapt onto the floor.

Snape knew firsthand that Hermione's familiar was highly intelligent, which made the cat a suitable companion for her. But in the end, Crookshanks was still a cat, and he currently weaving through Snape's legs, causing the wizard to bellow and let out a string of swears when he nearly tripped.

"Listen, cat," he'd snapped, snatching up the wriggling bundle of orange fluff and holding it in front of his face. "If I fall and break my neck, I _will _return and haunt you for the rest of your eight lives or whatever the hell number you're on. And if you bite me, you _will _return to Gryffindor tower with every bit of that ridiculously bright orange fur absent from your body. Do you understand?"

Crookshanks let out a lazy meow as if to say 'yes' and calmly walked beside Snape once he was set back down. A tray of dinner for the professor had been sent by a house-elf, Potter's house-elf to be specific, along with a dish of what looked like livers for the half-kneazle. Dobby had squeaked in a high-pitched voice that 'Missy Hermy's cat' liked livers while setting the plate down on the floor. The house-elf had apparently deemed Crookshanks to not be moving fast enough, for he picked up the half-kneazle to carry him over to his dinner. Dobby was slightly bigger than the animal, and Crookshanks let out a throaty growl at being toted around like a sack.

Snape stood nearby, shaking his head and wondering when his front room had become the meeting place for the mad menagerie. He was tempted to open his door and wait for Potter to come down with his Snowy Owl on his arm. Snape vaguely remembered the two Weasley children had familiars of their own; a hyperactive Scops owl and a miniature puffskein in a lurid shade usually found in candyfloss. Surely they would also join in. Still, Snape mused that it could have been worse. It could have been one of the creatures Hagrid tried to keep around, thinking that no one knew about staggeringly illegal animals he tended to house.

When Crookshanks was once again sane and dining on his meal of chicken livers (Snape didn't bother to see if they were raw or cooked), the professor slowly put away his own meal without tasting the food.

Now Crookshanks was seated on top of Snape's booted feet, looking perfectly at ease. Snape had no idea why the animal chose to lie directly on top of his shoes, considering there was a more comfortable space on the woven tapestry before the hearth. Prior to returning to his chambers, Snape had made a surprise visit to the Slytherin common room, purely to see if Draco was there as he had directed.

The headstrong young blond had been mysteriously absent. His two slow-witted sidekicks were adamant about not knowing where Draco was when asked, and judging from the bit of conversation Snape had overheard at their first Apparation lesson in which the boy had been vague on his whereabouts, the professor was inclined to believe them.

The hour was late, which was when Snape usually went on patrols. Besides doing so to keep mischief at bay, as he nearly always caught at least one student out of bed, the stark silence of the abandoned castle also gave him time to think.

Before making one last trip to the Slytherin dormitory and finding that a sullen-looking Draco was now inside, Snape made his way to the first floor of the castle. Hermione's cat had decided that he wanted to come along for the walk, and Snape had to make sure to not step on the damned thing as he stalked up and down the darkened corridors. He never used his wand as a light source, solely relying on his sharply-honed night vision to get around. Early on, he learned that it was easier to sneak up on someone whilst in pitch black.

A couple times, Snape wondered if the half-kneazle had purposely tried to trip him when he felt Crookshanks darting across his steadily moving feet. The two finally settled into a rhythm; when Snape moved, Crookshanks moved, and when Snape paused, so did the cat.

Wanting a bit of fresh air before turning in for the night, Snape made his way across the castle and all the way up to the Astronomy tower. Even though it was quiet and peaceful, both elements did little to chase the pastiche of thoughts that were forever on his mind. Some people tended to pace back and forth when they were worried; Severus Snape stood completely still, looking disinterested when in fact it was just the opposite.

Standing quietly for another fifteen minutes or so, Snape knew that he was no longer alone when he heard the soft snick of the Astronomy door being eased open. There was only one person whom had the gall to intrude on his private time; Snape had been sure the headmaster knew about his erratic forays into odd parts of the castle, yet he never attempted to interrupt his solitude. Severus Snape might have been Dumbledore's spy, as well as the Dark Lord's right hand, and while it was still hard for him to be Severus Snape, the man, the lone wizard, he still needed to get away from it all, even if just for a few minutes.

Besides, he would always welcome the attention of the person currently standing behind him.

"I believe this belongs to you, Miss Granger."

Hermione poked her head around the corner to see the unmistakable tall, black-robed form of Professor Snape. His back was to her, and he spoke without turning around. The professor was standing at the crenellated ramparts, gazing off into the placid, blue black night sky. The moon was partially hidden behind a few clouds but threw enough light down onto the castle to make an unnaturally stock-still Snape appear ethereal, even if he was swathed head-to-toe in black. Crookshanks had been curled up by his feet, also usually calm considering how he usually skulked around, although when the half-kneazle saw his mistress, he rose and slowly walked over to her.

"Prefect duties have ended two hours ago. So let me guess, you felt an unyielding urge to sneak out of Gryffindor tower to see the stars bathed in nearly twelve o'clock nightlight?"

"Is the risk of me getting detention contingent upon my answer?" asked Hermione cheekily, stooping to briefly pet Crookshanks before straightening up and walking over to Snape. She paused at the stone parapet, standing a few inches away from him.

Snape gave a sideways glance towards Hermione, staring at her for a second before focusing ahead again. She was properly dressed for once, even though when a frigid gust of air rushed past them both, he was met with the urge to put his teaching robes on top of her shorter cloak.

"A lifetime of detention would still not deter you from doing what you want. Short of binding you to a chair, I do not think there is anything anyone can do."

"I think you may be right; I'm hopeless," Hermione laughed, peering down at Crookshanks who was now twisting his way around her left leg. "But I promise that I have a very good reason for prowling around the castle at this absurd hour."

Hermione then cocked her head to one side and began toying with the zip on the front of her purple pullover. Snape noticed that she looked as if she was hesitant on divulging whatever she previously deemed important enough to drive her from the warmth of the dormitories at nearly midnight.

"May I ask you a question?"

"Only if you look at me and not your zip, Miss Granger."

Hermione stopped playing with her pullover and took a deep breath, peering up nervously at Snape.

"By all means, take your time, Miss Granger," Snape said sardonically, cutting his black eyes at the witch.

"Ugh, all right! But stop glaring at me, if you don't mind. You make me nervous when you do that; I feel as if I've done something wrong."

The corner of his mouth quirked slightly and it was enough to make Hermione continue on with one of the reasons for her visit.

"So..." she began tentatively, "I'm trying to help Harry with...something, but I'm not sure how to go about doing so."

"Does this involve Little Miss Sneak-Thief and her cohorts breaking into Hogwarts' supply of Potions ingredients again?" Snape inquired dryly. "Because if it does..."

"No!" Hermione yelped, heat flooding her cheeks. "You're never going to let me forget that horrible day, are you?"

For someone whose life depended on controlling his emotions and masking every thought, Snape was not bothering to do so now. The withering glance he shot Hermione was so fierce that it made the embarrassed flush in her cheeks spread down to her neck, making her chest feel warm.

"Let you forget it?" Snape drawled, exaggerating each word. "Not a chance. Do you know how long it took to brew the antidote? Not to mention the hour of spell reversal I had to perform to rid you completely of the tail and whiskers. No wonder you were hacking up fur balls even after I was finished."

_"Severus!"_

Even though his expression was staid it was clear that the professor was somewhat amused.

"You know, I can almost _feel_ your smirk. No need to keep a straight face, you might as well laugh," Hermione offered.

"I don't laugh," Snape replied. "Now quit your dithering and tell me why you sneaked out of Gryffindor tower—_again._"

"Right. As I was saying, I need to help Harry with something, but he actually needs Slughorn to help him first. And therein lies the problem, Slughorn isn't, um, exactly quite pleased with Harry at the moment."

"Is that right?" asked Snape smugly. "The way the old man's been going on about Potter, I was sure engraved invitations were going to be slipped beneath my breakfast plate any day now. No matter, should I ask what it is you three are up to?"

Hermione's hesitance was noticeable, and Snape dismissively waved a hand.

"Never mind, I don't want to know. Perhaps it's for the best. Anyway, I wish you all the luck with successfully getting Slughorn to freely offer assistance. The man displays largess that can only be compared with the Sheriff of Nottingham."

"Five points to Slytherin for the Robin Hood reference," Hermione chuckled. "But believe me, I'd noticed. Professor Slughorn isn't exactly the type to willingly offer help."

"He was Head of Slytherin House; are you really that shocked?"

Hermione stared at Snape for a moment with a furrowed brow. "I don't think you all are like that," she answered softly.

"You are partially correct on one account; it isn't just us Slytherins," Snape continued. "Most people are self-seeking. They aren't worried about the next person, unless it's to figure out a way to have one leg up on them. The world is cold and uncaring, and I fully understand your plight."

Again, Hermione had trouble finding the right words. "Surely everyone isn't that bad..."

"Would you like a sweet lie, or the bitter truth, Miss Granger? The sweet lie will go down easier, but I assure you that the bitter will only linger for a moment."

"I..."

"The best way to inveigle information out of someone like Slughorn is to pander and politic. The bastard generally enjoys it when someone falls all over him, even if he won't admit it. If it is information that you seek, then you had best make it seem as if you are willing to return some sort of favour."

"So basically Harry has to cater to his overblown ego? Wonderful," Hermione griped, exhaling in disgust.

"As I have already said, people are not inherently altruistic," Snape stated matter-of-factly. "Show me a man who says he wants to help someone without expecting anything in return, and I'll show you a liar."

"Now that most definitely cannot be true," said Hermione. "You've helped me loads of times and never made demands of me; what do you call that?"

Either Hermione had successfully rendered Severus speechless, which was a rare feat in itself and one she hadn't been intending on doing, or he had an answer to her question but was choosing to keep it to himself. In any event, he stood ramrod straight with both hands in his pockets, frowning as he continued staring out into the murky star-dotted sky that seemed to hang low enough to touch.

Hermione hated standing so close to the professor while at the same time feeling as if they were miles apart. She wanted to move in until their sides were touching, to bury her nose into the sleeve of Severus' teaching robes. Unfortunately, the Bloody Baron had the uncanny habit of frequenting the Astronomy Tower at odd hours of the night, something Hermione had learned during her previous Astronomy lessons. The ghost hadn't been obtrusive; sometimes he floated nearby, listening to Professor Sinistra lecturing about the constellations and solar system. But it would not do for the Bloody Baron to catch Hermione trying to cosy up next to her Defence teacher, especially considering the inappropriate hour and the small fact of them being alone at such a time.

The threat of being caught wasn't enough to make Hermione stay on her side of the tower, and slowly she shifted until she was standing close enough to feel the fluttering hem of Snape's robe brush against her leg. The wizard did not close the space between them, nor did he move away. Further testing her boundaries, Hermione moved one more step until her arm was less than an inch from Snape's, the feel of his body heat nearly tangible, even through his thick black layers.

"I have my own reasons for doing everything," Snape finally replied, rather cryptically.

"Oh, I know that," said Hermione, remembering the way the professor had handled the situation with her and Draco. "Right, well, at least I know what to tell Harry. Thank you."

Snape gave the slightest nod of his head, and Hermione took that as a _you're welcome._ Hermione was still amazed that after all the time she and Severus had spent together, his presence was still enough to make her stomach fill with butterflies. Of course, while their surroundings were intimate, Hermione wished that they were in his room. At least she would be able to touch him without the fear of being seen by another.

For a split second, Hermione forgot about the fact that Severus was her teacher. She forgot that basically the entire wizarding world was on tenterhooks as they waited for the consistently brewing trouble between opposing sides to finally come to a head. The only thing she could focus on was the fact that she wanted to stand in front of Severus, hide beneath the folds of his teaching robes, and stand up on tiptoe and kiss him until the surly look was absent from his face.

Snape's thoughts weren't terribly misplaced from Hermione's. While it appeared that he hadn't been looking at her, there was more than one instance where he peered at her out of his peripheral, getting a generous view of the witch.

He knew that he should have been worried when he realised just how much of a pleasant distraction Hermione's presence was, and had been up until the first time she barged in on him back at Grimmauld Place. Snape never knew what it was to lead a normal life, yet being with Hermione almost lent him a sense of normalcy. The greedy part of him wanted to hold onto that for as long as possible, even if it meant stealing her away from her family and friends, the latter being too young and immature to realise what an asset the young woman was.

At the same time, Snape knew that he should leave Hermione alone. It had little to do with that fact that the two were lovers, and more with the fact that he was wrong for her in every way, even if she disagreed.

But thoughts of throwing Hermione over his shoulder and carrying her off to some undisclosed place where they could hide from the rest of the world would never happen. For one, Snape did not know how many days he had left. Two, he was adamant that when Hermione survived the outcome of whatever was to happen, she would move on to a younger wizard with much less baggage than him.

"You are intelligent, Miss Granger," Snape said out of the blue, completely shocking Hermione. "Why are you still here?"

"I beg your pardon?" she asked, trying to expound the meaning behind his statement. "Do you mean up here, with you? That shouldn't be hard to figure out."

Snape's countenance was expressionless as he turned to look at Hermione. "That was not what I meant, although I still question what it is that makes you continuously seek me out. No, what I meant was, why are you still here? At school?"

"Where else would I go?" Hermione pressed, now thoroughly confused. "Regular school? That isn't going to happen."

"No, you silly girl. Why haven't you returned to your parents and gone into hiding with them? Surely you realise that things are only going to go downhill from here on. Does self-preservation mean nothing to you?"

"Well of course I want to live," Hermione began, thoughtfully chewing on her bottom lip. "I've thought about that a few times, if I'm being honest. But then I remembered that if things do take a turn for the worse, I might not even have parents to return to. And that's assuming I'll being alive at the end of all this. Then what?"

"You will survive, I am sure of it," Snape told her in a bored voice. "You will grieve, perhaps for longer than you intend. You will never forget everything you went through, but you will move on. You'll get a well-paying job, get married, have a perfect house and fill it with a brood of bushy-haired swotty brats, and then you'll send them off to Hogwarts to torment each of their professors with incessant inquiries."

"That actually sounds like a dreadful bore, and a bit frightful. Half the time I feel like I'm playing den mother to Harry and Ron, and usually I want to cuff them round the head."

"I sympathise with you on that one. Though dull it may be, at least it's a safe, predictable existence that won't have your progeny going head on with Dark wizards. I assume that is what you want?"

"Of course if I were to go that route I'd want my loved ones to be safe. I'd rather us not have to go through all of this trouble now, but there's no use in wishing it away seeing as it won't stop anything."

"If you hadn't come to Hogwarts, what would you have seen yourself doing?"

Hermione wondered where all of Snape's questions were coming from, as he was usually the type to offer instruction or make demands. The only time he ever asked questions had been in a classroom, although perhaps he was somehow trying to teach her another kind of lesson that could only be taught outside of one.

"I...I don't know," Hermione admitted. "Maybe following in my parents' footsteps by becoming a dentist? I hadn't really thought about it. They both wanted me to become a dentist like them, until getting my Hogwarts letter. But the thought of rooting around in another person's mouth never really appealed to me, to tell the truth. I think Mum was a bit disappointed when she found out that I would be going away to school to learn magic, but she never actually said so..."

"At least you had parents that were supportive of your endeavours," interjected Snape, his voice slightly hardened.

He bitterly thought back to his own parents, both of whom seemed to hold no ambitions towards their son's future. At times Snape had felt as if he had been unwanted, an 'accident' as some women in the neighbourhood referred to other women's children who came long after they claimed that they were done. While some women seemed to always either be pregnant or just finished being pregnant, there were those who loathed being in said state purely because they had husbands that could scarcely afford the children they'd already had. It was hush-hush, but some had figured out a way to terminate a pregnancy from early on, doing so without telling their husbands.

What went on between his parents in the privacy of their bedroom had been none of his concern, but it never stopped Severus from wondering if his mum had ever gone through such drastic measures. Eileen and Tobias Snape had never given the care they needed to the only child they'd had; Severus saw no reason why they would even think about bringing another one into the world.

" I have another question for you," Snape went on, completely changing the subject to something less weighty. "Why does your damned cat eat a hole into the middle of his food and then whine for more when the dish is still clearly full?" He looked disdainfully down at the furry orange creature who was sat behind them.

Hermione surveyed her familiar for a moment, looking bemused. Crookshanks seemed to know that he was being talked about for his bottlebrush tail lazily flicked the air once before settling down around the curve of his body.

"He always does that," she laughed. "He'll eat a little bit from the middle, and then bothers me to put more food in his dish, but it has to go in the middle. Maybe the food touching the sides aren't good enough for him."

"Is he also in the habit of knocking things out of your hand when you don't move fast swiftly enough for him?"

"Crookshanks! You naughty thing, what did you do to the professor?" Hermione was stifling a giggle, especially when Crookshanks flicked his tail once more.

The professor had gone quiet again, and he was looking off into the distance. Hermione almost wanted to ask if the stars were boring him, going by the look on his face. But the desire to do more than just stand next to Severus outweighed the idea of talking, and Hermione cautiously shifted her hand until it was next to his.

During the midst of their conversation Snape had taken both hands out of his front pockets and let his arms hang to his sides. Now Hermione was holding her breath without realising it, slowly inching her hand until it was aligned with Snape's. Still not stopping her nor pulling away, he allowed Hermione to curve her forefinger over his ring and pinky.

Exhaling when she found that Snape was not going to make her step back, Hermione tightened her finger around his two, gently running her thumb over his knuckles.

Although Snape's sleeve hung low enough to cover most of his hand, leaving only his fingers exposed, it was his teaching robes and Hermione's cloak that concealed their small embrace. From behind it looked like the two were merely standing next to one another, but only someone directly in front of them would have seen that they were touching. There was no allowing her head to rest on shoulder, or pressing her hip against his; Hermione remained completely upright, refusing to allow that one finger to stray from the rough warmth of Snape's palm.

"I'll walk you back to the dormitories," Snape suddenly said, giving Hermione's hand a light squeeze before placing it by her side.

"Wait," Hermione protested, reaching out for Snape's hand, not wanting to let go. "Must we leave so soon?"

"Did you plan on spending your entire night on the Astronomy tower?"

"No, but—"

"Then come along, it is getting too cold to remain out here."

"Will you at least kiss me goodnight? I have Harry's Invisibility Cloak if you're worried about being seen."

Snape sneered at Hermione's suggestion, his dark eyes peering down at the bundle of shimmery material she had just pulled from her pocket.

"No, thank you. Wearing Potter's cloak once was already one times too many, and I have no wish to relive the experience."

Hermione looked crestfallen but she said nothing. Snape could not believe how disappointed the witch was at her request being denied, and felt himself on the verge of reneging. Just as she turned to walk towards the door, he caught Hermione by the wrist and gently tugged her towards him, lowering his head and brushing his lips against hers. Hermione appeared confused at the sudden change, but then became extremely responsive once she felt Snape's kiss. She had just pursed her lips with intent to keep going and frowned when he pulled back after a second.

"That's enough for now," he softly told her, a strained look on his face. "We cannot forget where we are standing."

"Oh, all right," Hermione replied in a hushed voice. Snape then brushed a hand over her curls, the caress so fleeting that it was almost as if it never happened.

"On your way, then. And don't forget your cat."

Flashing a brief smile up at the professor, Hermione clucked her tongue until Crookshanks skulked out from a dark corner and walked to the door. He had walked away from chattering couple, taking a brief nap in a shadowed recess of the tower. If he could talk, he would say that their display of affection was rather shoddy, judging by that pitiful kiss given to his mistress. He would tell the wizard that he was holding back, and ask him why, as it was clear that he was more at ease when the wild-haired witch was around. But Crookshanks would do what he always did; sleep, wait to be fed, and observe the humans and their strange ways.

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_**Oh yeah, forgot to mention, I too, love the smut, but I'm also a sucker for those quiet, intimate moments, like many of you have told me ;) Sometimes shagging is nice, but then so is cuddling and kissing, or even just holding hands. Aww I sound like a sop. (I don't care)**_


	33. Chapter 33

_**A/N: Soo...my wrist is still pretty f**ked which is why this has taken so long. Literally I can only type with ONE hand now because if I even attempt to work with the messed up one, I'll be in pain for the rest of the day. I had these long intervals between updates and not being able to reply to everyone, it's killing me and you don't even know it! I'm not used to this limited activity and it sucks monkey nuts. But anyway, THANK YOU for the reviews, alerts, favorites and all! I love to hear from you so don't be shy!**_

_**Few things, a bunch of stuff was taking directly from HBP so if you remember it, it's not mine and I'm still poor. A few have asked me when these two are finally going to exchange the L-word...and my answer to that is...when the time is right ;) I might want to put something in one chapter and then I'll keep writing and something else comes and the Muse said if I fight with her she'll kick my ass so I have to listen. Also, this song is apparently from the Hunger Games which I missed, but I listened to it while writing the last bit of the chapter and...give it a listen. See if it gives you feels. It's Maroon 5 feat. Rozzi Crane and it's called 'Come Away To The Water'. Literally, I was not planning on the ending of this chapter it just sort of happened at 6am this morning. I think it's sort of fitting so...enjoy :)**_

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Hermione was doing her best to keep from outright sobbing every time she looked at her best friend, who was lying completely still between crisp white sheets in the hospital wing. Ron, who had grown tall enough to hover over both her and Harry, now looked small and meek as his gangly frame was securely tucked beneath a pile of blankets.

Hermione had gotten an early start that morning, going down to the Great Hall for breakfast and finishing in twenty minutes, wanting to get some studying in before the afternoon. It was Ron's birthday and she knew that he and Harry were going to drag her out of the common room to try and find something fun to do, a feat which was sure to be difficult considering the heightened security in Hogwarts. Still, that had never stopped them before and Hermione was certain that the majority of her day would be spent doing something that had nothing to do with schoolwork. So when Neville ran into her just as she was exiting the Great Hall with Luna, hastily telling her that something happened to Ron and he had been taken to the hospital wing, Hermione was unable to speak or think; she just turned and fled in the direction of the staircase.

The portraits lining the walls were shocked to see the Gryffindor running through the corridors; one even yelled for her to slow down. Hermione ignored them all. Almost forgetting to brake, she nearly trampled Harry over when she found him pacing in front of the double doors of the hospital wing. Ginny was standing nearby, and Hermione barely noticed her as she blurted out a frantic, "What happened?!"

"Ron was poisoned, and no, I don't know how," Harry had told her, nervously rumpling his messy black hair. "First he ate chocolates that were spiked with love potion, and I'd taken him to Slughorn for an antidote cos, well, if you had him you'd know. But then Ron said he felt awful and Slughorn gave us some mead, and I barely had time to put the glass to my lips when Ron fell out and started foaming at the mouth. Thankfully Slughorn had a bezoar in his trunk else—"

Harry had been cut off when Hermione let out a stifled sob, covering her mouth in a feeble attempt to keep quiet. She felt a mixture of horror and relief: horror because not one but two people had managed to covertly slip something into Ron's food and drink, and relief because a bezoar had been nearby for Harry to shove into his mouth.

"Madam Pomfrey put us out," Ginny had then announced. "Mum and Dad are in there, but we have to wait until they let us back in."

Taking a deep breath and trying to keep her knees from shaking, Hermione went to lean against the wall. One of the nearby paintings, a stout witch with an overly-rouged face and a white wig styled in long, fat sausage curls, had kindly asked the young woman if she was alright. Hermione gave her a brief nod, telling her 'thank you' in a small voice.

Harry, Ginny and Hermione remained out in the corridor until Madam Pomfrey told them that they may as well come back later, as Ron was in no condition for visitors at that point. Trudging back to the common room, the three sat around, an uncomfortable silence hanging between them.

"Do you think one of us should tell Lavender?" Hermione had asked, covertly nodding to the giggling blonde witch across the room who was showing Parvati what looked like a new jingly bracelet with a pile of glittering charms attached to it.

"What for, so we can spend the next few hours listening to her weeping and crying about her Won-Won getting hurt? No, thank you," Ginny replied, shaking her head.

"But—"

"Hermione, _no,_" Ginny cut off vehemently. "I'm telling you, all Lavender'll do is annoy the hell out of us, and it's not like we can do anything at this point except for wait. I'd like to wait in peace, if you don't mind, because the first vapid comment to come out of her mouth... well, I can't promise what I won't do, even if she is Ron's girlfriend."

"Wow, Ginny. I didn't know you could be so... vicious."

"This is nothing," Harry said with a half-crooked smile towards his girlfriend. "But best leave her alone, or Gryffindor House'll have a new ghost."

Even though Ginny still looked stressed out, she playfully nudged Harry in the side with her elbow.

It had been hours before they were finally allowed back within the vicinity of the hospital wing. Dinnertime came and went, although none of them felt much like eating. They were all too worried about Ron, and eager to get back and see if he was awake.

The three fled back up to the hospital ward once they were through picking over their dinner of shepherd's pie and peas. While waiting to be let inside, Harry and Ginny had taken to poring over every theory they could come up with as to how Ron could have been poisoned. Hermione understand that they were most likely prattling on more so out of nervousness, but their incessant 'what-ifs' and 'whys' were driving her batty, and she wished they would be quiet. Not wanting to get into a row with either of her friends, Hermione kept her lips pressed tightly together, until finally she could take no more. Just as she had been about to snap at them both to shut up, that they could ramble on about what might have happened, yet it didn't matter seeing as Ron had still gotten poisoned, the double doors to the hospital wing opened and Mrs Weasley poked her head out, telling the three that they could come inside.

Mr and Mrs Weasley left to talk further with Madam Pomfrey. Ron was still asleep and never once opened his eyes when Hermione, Harry and Ginny crowded the head of his bed. No one knew what to do, and not wanting to say anything that sounded stupid or foolish, they all chose to remain silent.

Inwardly, Hermione was screaming at Ron for being greedy, wanting to shake him out of his stupor, anything that would make him give her that stupid goofy grin that came across his face whenever he knew he was being silly, or even that confused look when he was trying to figure out something. Because this sombre-faced, deathly-pale imitation of her usually lively best friend was scaring the hell out of her.

Either Ginny or Harry had dragged a chair over and forced Hermione to sit down, she hadn't been paying attention to see which one. Madam Pomfrey had obviously forced some tonics down Ron's throat, as the young wizard was oblivious to everything around him. Hermione felt useless sitting there, and the only thing she could think of doing was holding onto Ron's hand, hoping that he would somehow sense his friends' presence.

Ron's hand was big and unwieldy in hers, and was limp as it felt heavy. While Severus' hand was more slender and fined-boned in appearance and had only a few calluses, Ron's nearly resembled a Quidditch catcher's glove, and was rough from palm to fingertip.

"Well, he looks a little better, compared to earlier," Harry mumbled, talking merely to fill in the gap of silence.

"You great big idiot!" Hermione hissed under her breath, turning her head away from her friends as she felt a lone tear making its way down her cheek. Furtively using her free hand to swipe away the moisture, Hermione inhaled sharply and forced herself to remain calm. She wasn't truly angry with Ron; she was angry because he was hurt, and angry that someone had gotten close enough to do so, an attempt that she forced herself to admit might have been meant for Harry, Ginny, or even her.

Hermione was still holding onto Ron's hand when Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, and Slughorn swept into the hospital wing. Guilt was etched all over Slughorn's face, and instead of his usual brisk gait, he behaved as if he was walking his last mile while carrying what Hermione guessed was the tainted brown-paper wrapped bottle of mead. McGonagall looked stern as ever, yet a glimmer of worry still showed through her prim facade. Dumbledore and Snape, however, were all business as Dumbledore plucked the bottle from Slughorn's hand, uncorking it and sniffing its contents before handing it over to Snape.

Even though Snape hadn't outright looked in her direction since walking into the hospital wing, Hermione knew that he saw her and noticed the way she clung to Ron's hand. His presence was not enough to make her move away from her best friend. If Harry, Ginny, or even Neville had been in Ron's position, Hermione would have touched them in the same manner.

Still, that didn't quell her urge of wanting to explain herself to the professor, even though doing so at the present moment was out of the question.

Snape had indeed noticed Hermione holding onto the redhead's slackened hand, and tried not to give it too much thought. His mood was already surlier than usual considering he had been abruptly ejected from his rooms by a keyed up McGonagall early that morning. She had told him that he was needed immediately in the hospital wing, and the constrained panic in her voice said that something was clearly wrong.

In no time, the professor had made it to the hospital wing, where he found a barely conscious Ronald Weasley, already having been changed into pajamas by the mediwitch and tucked securely into bed only the way Pomfrey could manage.

Snape had been hovering over the boy, ebony wand drawn and running it up and down the length of Weasley's body when his eyes fluttered open. Even though he had practically been unconscious, the horror on his face had been evident when he saw his least favourite professor looming over him. He sluggishly parted his lips, most likely to protest, when Snape stopped him.

"Do keep quiet, Mr Weasley," he'd said in an apathetic voice. "I am not here to kill you, although it appears that not one but two have already tried. And not that I wish to remain in close proximity, but unless you want to find yourself not waking up, I suggest you allow me to finish."

The young wizard seemed to think twice and eventually closed his mouth, although he kept his eyes wide open until Snape was done with his wandwork. Deeming all traces of the poison vanished, Snape gave Madam Pomfrey the all clear and stalked out of the hospital wing and back down to his dungeons. Of course, he had to return later to speak with Mr and Mrs Weasley, all the while listening to Slughorn snivel and whine about how he did not know how the mead could have been poisoned with each step to the other side of the castle. Snape had been about to suggest that Slughorn take a sip from the bottle clutched between his beefy hands when McGonagall sharply told the professor that they knew it was not his fault and to make like a pair of curtains and pull himself together.

To Snape's relief, Slughorn finally closed his mouth and the three continued on their way to the hospital wing, where they met Dumbledore who had also been on his way in.

To an untrained nose, the poison lacing the mead would have been undetectable, yet all it took was one whiff for Snape to know what it was. He was surprised that Slughorn, who considered himself a well-trained Potions master, had not noticed from the off the sickly sweet scent that was usually not present in mead, but resisted the urge to point out the obvious to the older professor.

All the while formulating theories as to how the mead had been contaminated, Snape made it a point to not look in Hermione's direction. He knew that she knew he saw her holding onto Weasley's hand, but now was not the time nor place to get worked up over something so trivial. Besides, she _had_ told him repeatedly that Weasley was nothing more than a friend to her. Even though she was hunched over the redhead's bed, he hadn't missed the bleary look in Hermione's reddened eyes nor the worriment on her face. In spite of the unfavourable circumstances, Snape was somewhat mollified when he remembered seeing that same expression when she saw him after a meeting with the Dark Lord.

Trying to put those memories out of his mind, Snape was in the middle of unwrapping the bottle and holding it up to the light when he heard Dumbledore praising Potter for his quick thinking to use a bezoar which saved his friend. That statement was almost enough for him to drop the bottle, yet Snape maintained a completely detached expression while his thoughts ran to the other side.

Just _how_ Potter knew to use a bezoar was a mystery to the professor, as the younger wizard spent most of his time over the years in Potions muttering complaints under his breath or casting nasty yet furtive glances in his teacher's direction. Snape was also under the impression that most of his lectures had gone in one ear and right out the other, as reflected in Potter's homework. For the most part, Snape had ignored Potter's glaring, sure that the boy was going to muck up his assignment and receive zero marks for the day like he usually did. Time and time again Snape thought about suggesting to Potter that if he were to do less menacing with his eyeballs and more focusing on his cauldron instead, that perhaps he would actually achieve passing marks like his fellow know-it-all Gryffindor.

However, only fools shared with the world their every thought, and Snape was not bothered enough to insult anyone at every minute of the day.

Speaking of fools...a high-pitched cry suddenly rent the air as the doors of the hospital wing were thrown open with a loud bang. Lavender Brown ran inside and rudely pushed through the throng of professors standing across from Weasley's bed, in high panic as she looked at her boyfriend.

"Won-Won! What's happened to him?" the blonde asked in a shrill voice that seemed to slightly rouse a moping Slughorn. "And why are you holding his hand?!" Lavender added as an afterthought to Hermione.

"Are you seriously going to get stroppy with me while my _best friend _is lying here practically dead to the world?" Hermione snapped back, dropping Ron's hand and promptly rising, making the chair legs scrape loudly against the linoleum.

"Well since when do 'best friends' hold hands like that?"

Hermione drew in a deep breath as if she was channeling every bit of patience left in her will to deal with the unreasonable Gryffindor. Meanwhile, the professors—even Snape, who was usually never interested in the going-ons between students— as well as a wide-eyed Ginny and Harry were still looking on, all wondering how this little display of madness was going to carry out.

"Lavender, I know that you're worried and upset, I truly do understand. But you are behaving like...well, like an idiot, to put it bluntly."

_That almost deserves points awarded to Gryffindor, _Snape thought of Hermione's snappy comeback.

Lavender, however, let out a loud gasp, shocked that someone vocalised what pretty much everyone else was currently thinking.

"Is that what you think?" she asked haughtily, flipping one long plaited blonde pigtail over her shoulder. She still wore her new bracelets and the charms clacked together as she moved.

"Yes!" Hermione told her without remorse, resisting the urge to _Accio_ Lavender's musical bracelet off her wrist and toss it out the nearest window. "You know that...you know perfectly well that Ronald is just my friend!" she finished in a rush, as if she was embarrassed at having to explain herself.

"Well that still doesn't change the fact that—" Lavender continued in a shrill voice, which had grown loud enough to carry over to Madam Pomfrey's office. As expected, the white and red-robed mediwitch came bustling out, a severe look of disapproval upon her face.

"Not in my hospital wing you don't!" she interrupted, frowning at Lavender. "My patients need rest and _quiet, _Miss Brown, and if you are unable to conduct yourself with more decorum then I suggest you leave!"

"But Madam Pomfrey!" Lavender pleaded, her voice no softer than it was before. "I've only just found out that Won-W —I mean, Ron, was hurt!" At that, she glared across at Harry and Hermione as if it was their fault for not passing along the message. "I came as soon as I heard."

"Very well, but shush! If I have to come back out here, I'll send you straight out through those doors. Do you understand?" Pomfrey asked, shaking a finger in the younger witch's direction.

"Yes, ma'am," Lavender replied, bowing her head to hide her flaming cheeks.

With a final sniff, Madam Pomfrey stalked off back to her office, straightening her large white hat on the way.

"Well, then," Dumbledore said in a cheery voice, breaking the tension in the room. "Come away, everyone. It seems that Mr Weasley is well tended to."

The four professors turned to walk away. Snape, who had grown weary soon as the abrasive blonde burst into the hospital wing, cut around everyone and made a beeline for the door when Madam Pomfrey called him back in.

_Damn, _Snape cursed silently, making no attempt to soften the blows of his hard-bottomed boots hitting the floor as he followed the mediwitch into her office.

"Don't look so down, Miss Granger," Dumbledore warmly told Hermione in passing.

Hermione nodded her head as Dumbledore continued on his way out, his ice-blue robes swishing behind him. It was evident that the headmaster was worried, even if he tried to hide it. Now peeking across at Lavender, Hermione saw that the blonde was ignoring her and staring at Ron, her features crumpled and looking as if she wanted to cry.

"Sit here," Hermione sharply told her, pointing to the chair she had just occupied. "And if you wake him up, I'll personally help Madam Pomfrey put you out."

Hiccupping and nodding, Lavender fell into the chair and scooted closer to Ron's side, taking his still limp hand into hers.

"Blimey, Hermione. Harsh much?" Harry asked under his breath as she walked past him. The laughter was evident in his voice, and Ginny looked as if she was fighting back a smirk. Their faces were just enough to make Hermione fight back a chortle of her own.

"Not harsh enough," she muttered.

After being subjected to Lavender's tantrum, Hermione found the need to be alone for a moment. Or just away from Lavender, because Hermione knew if she stayed next to her fellow Gryffindor, that she just might be tempted to follow Ginny's lead, only the least Hermione would do was snatch a pillow from an adjacent bed and smack Lavender in the head with it.

At least their minor row had served as a distracted for Hermione's muddled mind. She had gotten so worked up over Ron being poisoned that she had been unable to speak, yet Lavender irritated her to the point that she nearly forgot about the redhead's convalescence. Instead, Hermione had wanted to reach across his bed and yank on his annoying girlfriend's pigtails until she began speaking sensibly.

"I'll be back in a minute," Hermione told Harry and Ginny, pointedly ignoring Lavender as she walked across the ward. Shutting the tall, wide double-doors to the infirmary behind her, Hermione then sat down on one of the stone benches pushed against the wall. The painting that tried to comfort her earlier had walked out of her frame, most likely to visit with another portrait.

It wasn't even nine o'clock and already her entire day had been more drama-filled than a weeks' worth of daytime soap operas. The whole situation with Ron had been enough, but for Lavender to come at her had been the proverbial cherry on top of the cake. The blonde's whinging made her head hurt, and Hermione wondered if anyone had ever bothered to point out that her voice had the tendency to tread to the side of annoying, and that she should speak as little as possible.

_I bet that whiny pitch could cure the deaf, _Hermione groused silently, lifting both hands to rub her temples. Closing her eyes and lowering her head, Hermione desperately tried to massage away the hammering in her brain.

"Just so you know, your little friend is going to be all right," said a dry yet comfortingly familiar voice from above. "He will be annoying you again in no time, I'm sure."

Opening her eyes, Hermione saw two shiny black dragon hide boots in front of her. But as she looked up to reply, Snape had already turned to walk away, and the only thing she saw was the back of his head and the hem of his teaching robes lifting slightly as they caught air.

How long had he been standing there? She never heard the doors to the hospital wing being opened, and Hermione definitely hadn't noticed Snape walking over to her.

Her ruminating was broken when a pair of identical redheads came sauntering up the corridor, both looking odd without their usual broad grins.

"All right, Granger?" asked George, grasping a large brightly-coloured paper wrapped box as he and his twin walked over. They were both smartly dressed in matching striped brown suits, although George's waistcoat, shirt and tie were varying shades of purple while Fred's were shades of olive and mustard.

"Hey, you two," Hermione replied. "What did you do, rob Gringott's?" she asked, nodding towards their attire.

"Yeah, just don't tell Mum and Dad," Fred told her. "So how is our Ronniekins? Mum had a fit when she got Dumbledore's message."

"He's asleep," Hermione told him. "I just needed to get some fresh air so I came out here for a minute."

Just then the doors of the hospital wing were pushed forward and a sniffling Lavender Brown ambled out. She ignored the three standing outside as she continued on down the staircase.

"So, was that the stale air you were trying to avoid?" George asked, gesturing towards Lavender's blonde head that was disappearing down the steps.

"Lucky guess," Hermione answered between clenched teeth. "Let's go back inside and see if Ron's woken up."

Ron was still sound asleep although he had taken to mumbling incoherently every so often. Ginny had taken the seat next to his bed and was looking at her unconscious brother with an unfathomable expression on her face. George leaned across her to place Ron's gift on the bedside table, ruffling her hair when he was stood straight again.

"So, how did this madness come about?" Fred asked, squeezing in between his siblings and leaning against the table.

"Ron found a box of Chocolate Cauldrons this morning that I guess he thought were his, and he ate half of them," Harry began explaining. "We were about to go down to breakfast when he began acting strange, and that's when I knew something was up when he started going on about being in love with Romilda Vane."

"What?" George asked, looking completely lost. "But I thought he was with the one that we just saw? You know, the one that gave him that ugly-arsed necklace."

"He _is_ with Lavender, but there's Romilda Vane; she's in our House and she's a complete idiot," Ginny informed her brother. "She tried to get into a row with me, saying that she could have Harry if she wanted to. I told her to go right ahead and try, even wished her good luck."

"Wow, sis, you sure have a talent for instigation," Fred smirked.

"Yeah, with or without intention," said Ginny. "Only I could kick Romilda for this. I didn't think she would be desperate enough to force Harry to fancy her by sneaking him a love potion, but she did and put them in the chocolates and you know Ron can't resist sweets. Now look where he ended up. So technically, this is Romilda's fault."

"Yes, but I wonder what would have happened if Ron never drank the mead. What if Slughorn by some weird circumstance actually gave the bottle to Dumbledore?" Hermione interjected, her voice sounding croaky to her own ears. McGonagall had grown visibly distressed when she heard that Slughorn initially planned on gifting the bottle of mead to Dumbledore for Christmas. No one bothered asking why Dumbledore had never received it, especially seeing as it was already the first of March. But Hermione had been around Slughorn enough to know that he most likely kept the mead for himself purely out of selfishness. "Oh, I don't want to think about this anymore," she continued in a small voice." But I will say I'm glad that you found that bezoar, Harry."

"Me too," Harry replied, looking across at Ron who was frowning in his sleep.

Hermione was glad that Harry didn't point out the obvious, that she should be happy he had his Potions text, else he might not have known about the bezoar. Of course, he should have known, seeing as Snape told them about bezoars during their very first Potions lesson, but it was not worth bringing up that tiny, touchy bit of trivia at an already strenuous time.

Harry continued on with retelling the events of that morning. Just as he was finished, Mr and Mrs Weasley came back into the hospital wing. Mrs Weasley's hat was precariously perched atop her head, as if she'd shoved it on in a rush, and she barely noticed when it toppled off and drifted to the freshly mopped floors as she dashed over to Harry, embracing him in a bone-crushing hug.

"Alright, dear," Mr Weasley said after a while. "I don't think Harry wants you wetting his head with your tears," he gently told his wife, trying to pry her arms from around the politely gasping boy.

Finally noticing that Hermione and Ginny were also nearby, Mrs Weasley gave them both hugs before releasing them to go fuss over her son. Murmuring something about his messy hair, she rested one shaky hand on her son's head and began stroking the disheveled ginger strands into some semblance of order. Mr Weasley, who also looked just as grim yet seemed to be holding it together a bit more than his wife, began chatting with Harry, thanking him profusely. Hermione covertly slipped into the background, tuning them all out and becoming lost in her thoughts.

She had been surprised when Snape, of all people, assured her that Ron would be fine, but knew that he was most likely correct; once Ron was back to normal, he would most definitely be harassing her to help finish his essays and homework, as well as stuffing his face with obscene amounts of food at every meal.

Ten minutes later, Hagrid came barreling into the hospital wing, his moleskin coat dripping rain and his muddied boots leaving footprints on Madam Pomfrey's clean floors. His crossbow was dangling from one huge hand, as if he had been in the middle of hunting when he heard about Ron. Of course that was most likely not the case, as Hagrid was prone to keeping the most dangerous of animals as pets rather than slaughtering them.

Between his deep booming voice and the loud noise of the doors banging against the wall, everyone jumped, and the mediwitch ran out of her office. Her eyes grew wide especially after she noticed Hagrid's menacing crossbow.

"No more than six visitors at a time!" she said, glaring at the large group surrounding Ron's bed and back to Hagrid's crossbow, which was dripping and leaving a puddle next to his foot. "And I would prefer if you left that _thing_ outside!"

"That's alright, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione told her. "Harry and I will go. Come on, Harry."

Ginny nodded for Harry to go on, and he and Hermione walked out of the ward. Hagrid had stayed behind to talk to Mr and Mrs Weasley for a bit and soon caught up with them.

"I don' believe it, I jus' don' believe it," Hagrid kept muttering as Hermione and Harry nearly jogged to keep up with his long strides down the corridor. "Things are gettin' outta hand..."

"Has Professor Dumbledore said anything about it?" Hermione asked, desperately hoping that there was some clue to the mystery behind all the attacks.

"Dumbledore must know something, right?" Harry reiterated once he'd made it alongside Hagrid. "He's the headmaster, surely he has some idea of the person that's responsible for all this."

"Well..." Hagrid trailed off, sounding as if he wasn't all that sure how to answer Harry's question. "Dumbledore's worried, I can say tha' fer sure. But everyone's lookin' into this whole mess."

Harry and Hermione listened on as Hagrid began talking about the possibility of the board of governors shutting down Hogwarts. That had been the one thing Hermione was hoping not to hear, but she wasn't all that surprised. She half expected an owl delivering a letter with her name on, with a message from her parents stating that they were bringing her home and to not argue with them.

Hagrid was now going on about overhearing an argument between Dumbledore and Snape, and her ears prickled at the mention of the professor's name.

"What?" Harry asked, also catching the tail end of Hagrid's statement, which he had tried to smoothly cut off. "Dumbledore's angry with Snape?"

Hagrid tried to pretend that he didn't hear Harry, but the smaller wizard stopped right in front of him, staring Hagrid down. It was akin to tiny David staring down Goliath, rather, up, considering their drastic height difference, but Harry refused to be swayed until Hagrid answered him.

"Well?" Harry repeated forcefully.

"Nevermin' I said anythin'," Hagrid gruffly told him, trying to sidestep the much shorter wizard.

"Oh no, you brought it up for a reason so you might as well finish it," said Harry, doubling around in front of Hagrid as his voice grew louder.

"Why, for you to twist my words around an' go repeatin' them?" Hagrid frowned. "No, I know how yeh feel abou' Professor Snape and yeh won' drag me into it. And keep yer voice down!"

"He's got a point," said Hermione.

"Hagrid, I promise I won't tell anyone," Harry urged, feigning deafness to Hermione's comment. "Now will you just tell us? Obviously it's important if you suddenly want to go all close-mouthed."

"Alrigh', but not a word!" Hagrid admonished, looking around to make sure they were alone.

Harry kept his word and listened silently as Hagrid repeated what he'd overheard. Hermione got the distinct impression that Hagrid was not telling the entire story, which she knew had more to do with the fact that Harry tended to jump to the worst possible conclusions when it came to Severus Snape.

Hermione thought it rich of Harry to always be so quick to take everything Dumbledore told him as gospel, while vilifying Snape at every turn. Yes, Snape always had something snarky to say, but he had helped them out of tight situations more than once. After all, it was professors Umbridge and Lockhart that smiled and preened at them, all the while nearly killing them in the process. Dumbledore continued setting Harry with outrageous tasks without even a glimmer of explanation, and Harry never questioned his motives. But Snape outright saved his hide many times over, and all Harry could do was focus on what he considered the professor's nasty attitude.

Wasn't it Snape that saved him from Quirrell and his jinxing of Harry's broomstick? From Lupin when he'd transformed? And Hermione would even venture to say Sirius, whom had no forethought as to what his presence would do had the Dementors caught her, Ron, and Harry with him that night they found him in the Shrieking Shack. Had the Azkaban guards found them all together, no doubt they all would have received the Dementor's Kiss, without being able to offer any explanations to save their arses. Dementors were not known for being reasonable, and more than once that very thought had crossed Hermione's mind.

Then there was the issue of Harry's Occlumency lessons, which understandably gone all pear shaped. Harry could not understand why Dumbledore had chosen Snape, whom made it clear that he loathed the younger wizard, to serve as his instructor in the obscure branch of magic. Hermione had been the only one to figure out that Dumbledore would have been a poor instructor for Harry, mainly because his trust was brass-bound when it came to the headmaster. She thought Harry to be a little too trusting of Dumbledore, and that surely would have been his downfall if push came to shove during Occlumency lessons, because Harry would not have felt threatened enough to put his best foot forward. Snape, on the other hand...Harry would have worked his mind to the limit until his brain leaked out of his ears if it meant hiding his thoughts and memories from Snape. Not that it worked that way in the end; Harry, nor most wizards, were a match for Severus Snape. Recalling Snape's sneak attack on her mind, Hermione could definitely attest to that fact.

The three were nearly at the dormitories when Argus Filch and his grubby cat skulked out of a corner, yelping about Hermione and Harry being out of bed after hours. That prompted an argument between him and Hagrid, and the two were nearly toe-to-toe in the dimly lit corridor. Using that cue to run the rest of the way to Gryffindor Tower, Harry and Hermione hastily waved at the massive gamekeeper before taking off in the opposite direction.

"Damn, does Filch have nothing better to do?" Harry grumbled. "Anyway, I still don't know if I believe everything Hagrid said about Snape," he continued after giving the Fat Lady the password to Gryffindor Tower. She had been asleep and fussed them out for waking her up, but she did swing her portrait forward to allow them entrance.

"Well, why would he lie?" Hermione asked after looking around to make sure they were alone. "What's the point in that?"

"I have no idea," Harry replied grimly, "but there is something else going on, even if no one else will admit it."

Hermione's brain was worn out and she was tired, and in no mood to argue with her best friend. Yes, it seemed like something was going on, but it also seemed like Harry was suspicious of any and everything nowadays, and Hermione knew that most of his concern was justified. But sometimes his concern was misplaced; even Hagrid had said so. Hermione's worries had more to do with surviving on a day-to-day basis. If it was that easy for a student to be slipped a cursed necklace or a poisoned drink, who knew what else could happen? At the rate things were going, Hermione just knew that she was going to wake up with someone hovering over her, a knife clutched in their hand and aiming for her heart.

Admittedly, that might have been a touch dramatic, but it was clear that each instance of attacks was no coincidence. Just who they were meant for remained a mystery, but Hermione was sure that Katie Bell nor Ron had been the intended victims. Of course, that also meant that something could definitely happened to her, whether accidentally or deliberately, and that thought scared the hell out of her.

Next to being scared, Hermione was even more unsettled after finding out that Dumbledore had no idea as to who was behind the attacks. Or knowing the way his mind worked, perhaps he did know and was not saying so. But if he did know it was serving no purpose, considering that Katie Bell was still with her parents, and Ron's at his bedside. For someone that was purportedly brilliant, Hermione thought that Dumbledore ought to be doing more when it came to the safety of student and staff at Hogwarts.

Then again, perhaps she was just deluding herself.

There had been a point where Hermione was awed by the professors as well as the headmaster at Hogwarts. She looked to them as flawless entities that would teach her everything she would need to know about the magical side of her life.

So when her illusions had been shattered, and Hermione learned that all of her teachers were just as flawed as she and prone to mistakes like the rest of the world, it had been a bit jarring. And while she had continued to look up to many of them, year after year it became harder to maintain that same level of steadfast admiration.

How many times had she wanted to scream 'too little, too late' to someone when they finally showed face after the fact?

At least Snape had been around lately when Hermione needed him. Speaking of the dour wizard, she wondered what he and the headmaster had been arguing about. And what could be so bad that Dumbledore was angry at him?

Hermione was sure that when a person risked life and limb for another person that at least it would spare one of the other's wrath. But apparently not, judging by what Hagrid accidentally blurted out.

Mostly everyone was in bed when Hermione walked into the girls' dormitory. Ginny's bed was still empty and its curtains pulled back as she was still with her family in the hospital wing. Lavender's bed curtains weren't completely shut, and Hermione noticed that the blonde witched was curled on her side with something clutched in her fist, what looked like a tissue or handkerchief, as if she'd cried herself to sleep.

_She's still annoying, but at least she cares enough about Ron to be crying over him, _Hermione told herself as she walked over to her bed.

After changing into her nightgown and slipping into bed, Hermione closed her eyes and tried to shut down her racing thoughts. It only took an hour of tossing and turning before Hermione pulled a book out from beneath her pillow,—along with a handful of Crookshanks' butterbeer corks which she deposited on her nightstand— and attempted to read herself to sleep. But reading by wandlight made her already aching eyes burn even more, and she soon abandoned that effort.

Without giving it a second though, Hermione slipped back out of bed while leaving the curtains shut. Fumbling around for her jeans through the dark, she slipped back into them and shoved her feet into her trainers. She knew she would get yelled at, but right now her need to be near a certain wizard outweighed the possible consequences of what she was about to do.

* * *

A reprieve from his thoughts would not come easy for Snape, not that it ever did.

Even though Dumbledore had been behaving affably while in public, Snape knew that the headmaster was still cross with him. Not that he cared all that much, not considering what Dumbledore had practically forced his hand into doing. Ever since Dumbledore explained to Snape what he needed of him when the time was right, Snape had gone between feeling numb with shock to sick with grief.

The night before, Snape had met the professor on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. After the two walked in silence until they reached a small clearing, Dumbledore had drawn up his robe's left sleeve to the elbow, revealing the blackened, withered skin that seemed to go beyond the bit that was visible to Snape's eye. Even though the moonlight had been pale and beautiful, its serene light had been unable to soften the sight of Dumbledore's slowly decaying arm.

"There's no point in stating the obvious," Dumbledore said after righting his sleeve back into place. "You know what this means."

"I do," Snape stiffly answered.

"I trust you are still going forth with the investigations in your House," the headmaster had continued, although it was more of a statement.

"What is there to investigate? You know just as well as I that Draco Malfoy is the culprit. Unless you have some _other_ reprehensible task for me to perform?"

Dumbledore paused to look up through an opening between the treetops to gaze at the night sky. "I wouldn't consider what I asked you to do reprehensible. Questionable, perhaps, but that would be depending on who's asking."

_"Questionable?" _ Snape echoed, on the verge of exploding. "Questionable is a word you use when one of these students turns in an essay that was most likely copied from a textbook. I wouldn't consider murder to be questionable."

"Who said anything about murder?" asked Dumbledore calmly, as if he was discussing dinner plans instead of his request for Snape to bestow upon him a mercy killing.

"I said murder because that's what it is, Albus!" Snape spat, already at the end of his tether. "And when you're gone, what else do you think everyone is going to say? Not murder, my arse. I'll be sent to Azkaban within the hour and then what of your brilliant plan?"

"I have every faith in you, Severus. You won't be sent to Azkaban."

The headmaster's calm ran against Snape's fury, and by that point Snape had gotten so worked up that he didn't try to muffle his scoff. He knew that Dumbledore was getting up in age and was a bit dotty, but never did he dream of the day where the wizard would outright ask for his assistance with euthanasia.

Living with a Dark curse contained to his body had undoubtedly been painful. Snape had experienced pain beyond belief from the Dark Lord, but to actually have a constant burning, throbbing pain embedded into one of your limbs was a different story altogether, and even he was not sure that he would be as composed as Dumbledore. Many times Snape had noticed the headmaster wincing when he thought that the younger wizard was looking the other way, and Snape wondered if Dumbledore would admit to reaching the point where he was weary of suffering.

Usually he had been begged to not kill someone, never the other way around. Bellatrix and Voldemort as well as a few of the other Death Eaters loved to hear their prey begging to be killed and put out of their misery merely to avoid a seemingly endless bout of torture, yet Snape preferred a less messy ordeal instead of a long, drawn out affair. Of course, Snape would have preferred to never hear either request, but with his stint as a spy, that had been impossible.

"And if I choose to deny your request?" Snape challenged, nostrils flaring as he huffed angrily.

"You've already agreed, Severus. I'll not negotiate with you," Dumbledore told him with an air of certitude. "And have you not told me that you will never go back on your word?"

Dumbledore knew that one of Snape's few weak points was his loyalty being questioned, and that statement had been insulting, akin to someone trying to slice another with a dull knife.

"Severus, you know what you must do, and you will do it. I see no reason for your fuss."

"Did it ever occur to you that you take too much for granted? Has it ever crossed your brilliant mind that I don't want to do this anymore?"

Snape knew how he sounded, and to make matters worse, Dumbledore refused to reply to that comment. When it was apparent that the headmaster had no more to say on the subject, Snape curtly bade him goodnight and strode out of the forest in high dudgeon. He'd had the impression that someone was nearby, but did not feel that it was anyone threatening. Either way, by then Snape almost didn't care enough if it was the Dark Lord himself that had been eavesdropping on his and the headmaster's conversation. Simply put, Snape felt as if he had been painted into a corner and that alone irked him to the nines.

Even though his and Dumbledore's conversation had taken place the night before, the idea of what the headmaster expected Snape to do kept making him feel physically ill. Usually Snape read, either for pleasure or to distract himself, but even that had proving fruitless for the past hour.

Most of the time Snape preferred to be alone, but right now his solitude was only exacerbating the negative thoughts running through his mind. By now, Hermione's cat was usually scratching at his door, and the professor had little difficulty in admitting to himself that even the wayward ball of bright-orange fluff would be a welcomed diversion.

Five minutes later, Snape's diversion came by way of a small knock at his door.

"What are you doing here, Granger?" Snape asked once Hermione had stepped inside. She tugged the Invisibility Cloak from over her body once Snape shut the door and tearfully looked up at him.

There was no denying it; the witch looked awful. Her hair was all over the place, and the cloak's material rubbing against her curls had most likely made it worse. Her face was blotchy and her eyes were red, she was clutching her troublesome half-kneazle to her chest..

"I couldn't sleep," Hermione sniffled, letting a softly meowing Crookshanks down to the floor. The cat rubbed up against Snape's legs before walking off to take his favourite place at the hearth, leaving the humans to have a bit of privacy. "Am I disturbing you?"

"I would say yes had I been asleep, but, no, you aren't disturbing me," Snape admitted, stepping back slightly and gesturing for Hermione to walk further into the room. Instead of the armchair, she sat on the hard, uncomfortable sofa, and Snape's forehead furrowed when she patted the seat next to her.

"You know I hate that damned thing," he replied in a low voice, distastefully eyeing the sofa.

"Well it's your furniture," Hermione replied. "Sit with me, please."

Even though Snape was in no mood to feel the uncomfortable sofa springs in his arse, he sat next to Hermione, looking down when he felt her hand reach across and cover his.

"How are you?" she asked, gently squeezing his fingers.

There was a lot more beneath Hermione's question, and Snape knew it, but all he said was, "I'm still here."

"Yes, you are."

Hermione thought Severus looked as worn out as she felt, and was surprised when he stopped talking. Yes, she was taking yet another risk by sneaking down to see him, but something inside her snapped and before Hermione knew it, she had sneaked over to the boys' dormitory, retrieved Harry's Cloak and Map, and crept down the spiral staircase. She was halfway out of the common room when Crookshanks crept behind her, seemingly knowing where she was headed and demanding to be taken as well.

Now that she was next to Snape, Hermione felt a bit more at ease. Perhaps Snape felt the same way, because when she slowly inched over until her weight was settled against his, Hermione lowered her head to rest against his shoulder and the professor allowed her to remain there. Their hands were still loosely entwined, but after some time passed, Snape returned that earlier squeeze and then lay his head on top of Hermione's.

Contained within that small movement, it seemed as if Snape was resting his unspoken, unshared burdens upon Hermione, all with her allowing him to.

It felt as if Snape was purposely keeping some of his weight off Hermione, because she noticed a slight trembling in his limbs. Shifting around on the rigid sofa, Hermione moved in closer until his body lost some of its rigidness.

Crookshanks had long fallen asleep, and the room was completely silent save for the crackling of the hearth. The quiet in his study had been borderline stifling before, and between that and his melancholy mood, Snape literally felt as if he was being slowly choked. The timing had been almost perfect when that timid rapping was heard at his door, and almost immediately Snape felt some of his tension ease. He'd never had an open door policy, preferring to be left to his own as often as possible, but that rule had been tacitly bent when it came to the curly-headed Gryffindor and her familiar.

"Are you asleep?" he heard Hermione whisper, her face partially buried against his arm.

"Why?" Snape mumbled into her hair.

Tentatively reaching up, Hermione blindly felt around until Snape's her fingertips were brushing against his slick black hair. Her hand continued fumbling midair until she was touching the hooked part of his nose, then sliding up to press her palm against his eyes.

"Your eyes are open," Hermione said accusingly. "You should be asleep."

"Correction, madam," Snape murmured. "My eyes _were_ open until you decided to stick your little fingers into them. First your cat tries to trip me and then you try to blind me. I'm almost led to believe that you two are plotting against me."

"That would never happen," Hermione laughed quietly, now realising that Snape's eyes were in fact closed, and the tips of his fluttering lashes were tickling her fingers. "And stop exaggerating, but that's exactly my point. You're always telling me to go to sleep, and I think it's time for a change."

"Do you now?"

"Yes."

"You have more nerve than a toothache, Granger, ordering me about in my own rooms," said Snape softly, although his tone conveyed a wry amusement.

"I didn't order you about," Hermione retorted, gently pressing the side of her head into his arm. "I don't think anyone would dare order _you_ about."

_How very wrong you are,_ Snape thought without bothering to correct the witch. Instead he brought his arm around her shoulders and left it there, allowing his thumb to rub errant circles into the small patch of skin exposed above her collar.

"And you've not even bothered to kiss me," she was now saying through a yawn, having grown relaxed beneath his touch. "I've been waiting for a proper one ever since last seeing you on the Astronomy Tower."

"One kiss, and then I want your eyes and mouth shut. Understood?"

"One kiss? Such largesse."

"I never claimed to be renown for acts of munificence."

"Oh, believe me, it shows in your grading. I'm surprised that I've actually passed all of your classes."

"Is that a complaint I hear? Because believe me, the fact that I've allowed some of these little brats to pass is saying something. Daft as a brush they are. You, on the other hand, I should have deducted points for being too verbose."

Hermione wrestled free of Snape's arm and shifted upright to glare at him. Even though his face was haggard, it was clear that the professor was enjoying the way she reacted to his chaffing. She still hadn't forgotten about her much wanted kiss, and straddled Snape's lap, moving forward until their chests were touching. Just as she was about to move her lips to his, Snape lifted both hands and cupped them around her face.

Snape using Legilimency on her had infiltrated the deepest recesses of her mind; now it seemed that his dark eyes were doing so, even though old memories weren't rushing past. He didn't speak or move, and Hermione found herself pinned into place by that penetrating stare. She somehow had the impression that Snape wasn't looking at her, but rather into her, yet what it was he was looking for at that point she knew not.

Just as swiftly as he'd stopped Hermione from kissing him, Snape moved forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. A continuous trail of gentle, reverent kisses were then placed upon Hermione's eyelids, her nose, and then cheeks. It was a mystery as to why Snape was avoiding her mouth, but something inside Hermione made her throat close and she let out a choked sobbed. Suddenly she had both arms around his neck, clinging onto him for dear life without knowing why.

Snape didn't ask Hermione what was wrong; instead his arms tightened around her body and he held her tightly against him, his face half buried into the side of hers, barely aware of the unruly curls that were trying to suffocate him.

It was a while before Hermione tried to speak, but when she parted her lips she found that her voice had gone.

"It's all right, Hermione," Snape assured in an oddly gentle voice, his lips right next to her temple.

Hermione tried speaking again and then abandoned the effort, finding that she was suddenly drained of all energy. Sighing heavily as she allowed her tense, quivering limbs to sink into his, Hermione drew in a shuddering breath and slowly exhaled, feeling the hot air rebound off Snape's neck to hit her in the face. He wasn't asking her if she was all right; he was telling her that it was all right, and for some reason that made Hermione grow further agitated. She somewhat had an idea of why Snape was telling her it would be all right, but did not want to admit it, not even to herself. There were certain things Hermione still found difficult to face, even though Snape told her they were inevitable. Of course, he might have been lying to her at that point, and the gesture was kind, but still did not take away the inexplicable, niggling fear that had suddenly taken over.

Although Hermione hadn't been on a crying jag, she felt worn out as if she'd spent the last half hour sobbing. Snape's bony fingers were stroking the side of her face, and he was moving in a sort of awkward rocking motion the way one might move if they were trying to soothe a distraught child without really knowing how.

"I—" she began again, still fighting to make her tongue work.

"You don't need to explain anything," Snape told her, sounding as if he was having just as much trouble speaking. "I've got you, now go to sleep."

Hermione forgot that she had been the one to initially tell Snape to go to sleep, and she followed his instructions without a fuss. Without realising it, Hermione had soon fallen asleep, her curly head tucked beneath Snape's chin and his arms still around her

Even though they were both sitting up, Hermione's knees on either side of his thighs and her body crumpled against his, Snape closed his eyes and rest his head on top of Hermione's, although he had every intention of moving them off of the rock-hard sofa and into his bedroom. It only took thirty minutes of an uncomfortable slumber on the narrow piece of furniture before he roused enough to transfigure the thing into something softer and wider, and two slept like that for the remainder of the night; fully clothed and holding onto one another.


	34. Chapter 34

_**A/N: Please don't kill me for the time since my last update! A change in my work schedule gave one 3 days off then one day off, and then I still didn't have meds for mt wrist so writing was not an option. But...doctor says my wrist isnt' healing properly and I had a CAT scan yesterday so I'll see what he says when I go back next Tuesday. In happier news, I got a new keyboard and mouse. Why is this important? Because my old keyboard and mouse was wireless and FECKING ANNOYING AS HELL when the batteries began dying! Everyone, always go with wired, screw wireless. That is, if you're a computer rat like me. So I can now type with more ease which is beautiful.**_

_**And...this chapter is over 9.5k, and I have no idea how I edited it quickly...*looks at empty wine glass and then cup of Twinings English Breakfast* **_

_**I got to reply to mostly every review from last chapter, yes! I told you all I loved you, and now I can properly tell you. I see I've got some new readers and followers and reviewers, hello lovely people! And for everyone that's still be reading and reviewing, I love love love ya. Can't tell you how much I appreciate your support and comments. Like I said, this is a long one, hopefully it will make up for the abominable time since my last update.**_

* * *

"Harry!" Hermione yelped, coming to an abrupt stop when she caught sight of him in the corridors. Harry's green eyes widened behind his round frames, curiously eyeing his best friend whom was standing in front of him, clutching an armful of books. Lavender was perched on the bench next to him, her mouth going a mile a minute, although it was clear that she was oblivious to the fact that Harry had long been ignoring her.

"Er, yeah?" he began cautiously, craning his neck to look up at Hermione.

"You said you were going to meet me in the library, don't you remember?" Hermione impatiently reminded, shifting the heavy pile of books to her other arm. "We were supposed to be researching _that thing_ if you recall?"

Harry had been about to ask 'what thing?' but the look in Hermione's eyes made him immediately snatch up his rucksack which had been lying in a crumpled heap at his feet.

"Sorry, Lavender, but I need Harry to help me with something," Hermione told the blonde witch, who was watching the stilted exchange with her mouth hanging open.

"But we were in the middle of a conversation!" she spluttered.

"I know, but maybe you can finish later," Hermione suggested loftily." Oh look, there goes McLaggen; maybe you two can carry on. You both like Quidditch, right?"

"Let's go, Hermione, sorry I kept you waiting," Harry suddenly said, keen to get away from Lavender and McLaggen, who had also been harassing him at every turn and was now heading in their direction.

Ever since Ron had been poisoned and stuck in the hospital wing, McLaggen was all too eager to sidle up to Harry and point out that he could replace Ron's position as Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. McLaggen _had _been the second best player, but it was his attitude that put everyone off. Had Harry not been so distracted with following Draco Malfoy around, sure that he was up to something and aggravated because thus far he had been unable to find out what that something was, in addition to homework and being waylaid by Lavender Brown whenever she found him alone (Lavender never bothered Harry when Hermione or Ginny were nearby) then he would have tried to find someone else to play Keeper.

Lavender became sulky and McLaggen looked perplexed as Harry seized the pile of books from Hermione's arm and began dragging her away with his free hand.

"So, were really supposed to meet up to study or...?"

"No, and thank you for taking my books, by the way," Hermione answered, sighing in relief as she rubbed her aching bicep. "You just looked like you needed a bit of rescuing. What was Lavender going on about today?"

"I owe you, Hermione, really, " Harry replied gratefully. "I couldn't tell you what the hell she was babbling about if my life depended on it, to be honest. I think something about Ron not wearing that necklace she gave him for Christmas, and him always being asleep whenever she visits him in the hospital wing."

"What? I only saw Ron fifteen minutes ago and he was wide awake. Told us to enjoy class and he would _try _to enjoy his lie in."

"I bet he did," Harry laughed. "I left breakfast early to see him and he was awake then, too. I think he's a bit...what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Overwhelmed? Stifled? Suffocated?" Hermione helpfully suggested. "Like his you-know-what is in a vise?"

"Yeah, one with jangly bracelets," Harry replied. "I know Ron fancies her and all, but sometimes Lavender is a lot of work. But then again, what do I know?"

The two continued walking until they were out in the courtyard. Even though the day was uncharacteristically bright, the sun lent enough warmth to the afternoon where students didn't mind taking a stroll outdoors. Hermione settled onto one of the stone benches and cracked a book open, while Harry began chatting with Ritchie Coote, the tall, weedy Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

Tuning out their chat which mostly consisted of flying strategies and the like, Hermione stared down at the opened textbook that was balanced on her knees. It was almost a week to the day where she had last spent time with Snape in the privacy of his rooms. Although she still saw him in class, the professor was just that: her professor, nothing more, nothing less. He was still the same Severus Snape, albeit with even more purple shadows beneath his weary eyes. Those dark shadows had seemed even more pronounced with Hermione lying atop the wizard, her faces mere inches away from his.

The Saturday before, Crookshanks and Hermione had stayed in Snape's rooms until nearly dawn. At some point she had woken up to find that she was still clutching onto the professor, only they were lying completely flat on what she guessed was the once uncomfortable sofa, then transfigured into a sort of plusher, wide cot. His hand had remained been curved around her cheek, although his fingers were lax. While Hermione had felt almost too warm for comfort, especially since she and Snape had both been covered with the blanket that he had obviously summoned from his bedroom at some point, she could not bring herself to push his hand away.

Feeling something else warm touching her, Hermione had craned her neck a bit to find Crookshanks curled up at the other end of the cot, sleeping on top of her and Snape's intertwined feet. Her shuffling around had slightly roused Snape and he stirred against her. However, his eyes had remained closed and he absentmindedly began stroking Hermione's cheek again in the midst of his sleep, and the sensation lulled her back into a deep slumber. Hours later she had woken to the unmistakable feel of Snape's early morning erection pressing against her hip. Hermione would not have minded had he turned her over to tug down her jeans and knickers, but was satisfied with merely feeling his arms around her. In the end, his erection had waned by the time his eyes fully opened. After a quick trip to the loo, Snape walked Hermione back to the dormitory, sans Crookshanks, as the half-kneazle had no plans of uncurling from his place on the end of the cot.

Sunday morning, after waking to the sounds of her chattering housemates, Hermione had remained behind in bed long after everyone had gone down for breakfast. Between Ron being poisoned, an event which most of her classmates were shockingly unfazed by, as well as schoolwork and her never-ending worries about Snape, Hermione's nerves were becoming stretched thin. Still, falling apart was not an option and she forced herself to maintain some bit of sanity.

Hermione still hadn't known the reason for her sudden outburst in Snape's room that night, although during the week, things began growing clearer. It had been Wednesday afternoon and Snape was going through his usual rigmarole in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Up and down the aisles he strode, both hands in each pocket like always, all the while going on in a smooth voice about witches and wizards who had been caught off guard and killed by Dark wizards. The professor spoke with what one might describe as levity, which was completely incongruous to the subject at hand. It had been then that Hermione realised why she had suddenly panicked and clutched onto Snape: she had been frightened by the idea of losing him.

Yes, the only promise Snape made to her was that he would do his best to look after himself, but the idea of what he was experiencing firsthand never left Hermione's thoughts. Tomorrow was not promised to anyone; Hermione had always known that, but the events as of late only reinforced that point. But her brain had long known what her heart refused to admit.

Thinking about something horrible happening to Snape while sitting in his class proved dangerous, especially when he honed in on the fact that Hermione was distracted. Calling to attention that Hermione was focusing on something other than the lesson, Snape rattled off a series of questions, which she answered promptly and correctly. Without bothering to say that Hermione was correct, Snape reprimanded her in front of the class for having her head in the clouds before demanding that she pay attention.

Of course, his Slytherins gloated at Hermione being chastised, while everyone else either glared at Snape or pretended to not have heard anything, not wanting to be the unpermissive professor's next victim.

Hermione had been annoyed, as she disliked being given a talking to, but she did give her undivided attention to the lecture after that.

"You know," Harry was now saying, having finished his chat with Coote and walked back over to Hermione, "I know Quidditch is a big deal, but I can't believe that Coote is the only one whose asked about Ron. The only thing that git McLaggen is worried about is showing off and trying to be permanent Seeker, like that'll happen."

"Are you surprised?" Hermione asked. "If McLaggen's head gets any bigger, it's going to need its own postal code. He's probably hoping Ronald will be infirm for the rest of the month, purely so he can—"

"Show off," Harry interrupted. "Like I said. I don't care if I'd have to drag Ron out of bed and shove a broomstick up his back to keep him propped up, because I'll be damned if I'm going to let McLaggen replace him."

"Well so much for him being ill!"

"_Hermione, _you know what I mean," Harry said exasperatedly. "I wished Ron never got poisoned. Do you know how scared I was in Slughorn's office, thinking that one of my best friends was about to die? I wouldn't even wish that on Malfoy, and I can't stand him."

"I know, you're right. I'm sorry," Hermione apologised, "It's just... all this has me worked up. Every time I turn around, I think something else is going to happen, you know? It's sort of like watching you during a Quidditch match, I don't know when to hold my breath or when to exhale. And let's not even mention the Goblet of Fire. I don't know how I slept at all."

"You know, it really is amazing that I forget how much of a worrier you are," Harry said, poking fun. "Do you really lose sleep over a little thing like me playing Quidditch?"

"Yes!" Hermione huffed. "You and Ron. But I think you both enjoying giving me a coronary, so don't even try and lie."

Harry sniggered; it was true, on more than one occasion he and Ron noticed the way Hermione jumped out of her skin when they took a spill on their broomsticks, and that had just been when they were playing a small game against Fred and George at the Burrow. A few times, Ron had suggested to Harry that they pretend to fall off their brooms, just to see Hermione jump. One time Harry had completely tumbled off his broom and landed on all fours, although that was purely accidental. Hermione had been watching from the back garden and shrieked in horror, positive that Harry had snapped his neck. When he jumped up, laughing and cursing at Ron who was grinning and hovering over him, she sat back down although her hands continued trembling for the next ten minutes.

Mrs Weasley hadn't been panicky as Hermione, and even laughed when she saw the distressed look on her face.

"They're boys, dear," she'd told Hermione."After having six of them, I've become used to the noise, the ripped trousers and the scraped-up hands and knees. Although, Percy was more of the bookish type, like yourself, but I suppose Ginny filled his shoes with that. Anyway, I've got a tonic for broken bones in my cupboard if needed. Give a shout if you need me to dig it out."

"Who are you playing next week?" Hermione now asked Harry, unable to remember. The only time she knew when a match was approaching was when students from each respective House talked about it in class or in between meals. Otherwise if Harry or Ron did not mention upcoming games, she always forgot. Both boys never took Hermione's disinterest as a personal insult; she looked at Quidditch the way they look at her frequent trips to the library. She did try, though, for their sakes. Hermione had even attempted a game at the Burrow with them a few times, but refused to fly higher than the crooked multiple-storied farmhouse.

"Hufflepuff," Harry answered, taking off his glasses to rub both eyes. "To tell the truth, they could cancel Quidditch right now and I could care less." Hermione looked so shocked at that comment that Harry gave a half-snort. "I know, I know, but I mean it. I'm worn out at practice; McLaggen's annoying the hell out of _everyone_ and we can't wait to be shot of him. Not to mention being up to my ears in piles of homework that's waiting for me at the end of each day."

"I don't suppose you've stopped using that Potions text, either."

"No, Hermione," Harry replied hotly, "so you may as well just drop it."

"Fine," Hermione replied just as testily. "Don't even know why I bothered mentioning it. But Harry...I know there are spells in there that even I've never heard of. "

"And your point is?"

"You know what I'm getting at. I hope you know enough to not use a spell if you don't know what it's for." Hermione knew she was annoying Harry, because a sidelong glance was all it took for her to notice that his jaw was clenching although he was saying nothing.

"All right, Hermione, point taken," he finally grumbled. "Now can we change the subject?"

"OK, Harry," Hermione agreed. "And if you need help with the rest of your assignments, just let me know. I don't why you didn't say something in the first place."

"Hmm, maybe because I didn't want you to bite off my head?"

Hermione rolled her eyes as she gave a short, humourless laugh. "Like that's stopped you before!"

"Yeah, and you always gets unbearably smug. _And_ you have to admit that you've a tendency to act like a nutter."

Hermione reached her foot over and thumped Harry in the side of his leg. "Be quiet," she said, trying to suppress a grin. "If you want to see the reason for my battiness, go look in the mirror. And take Ron with you."

With Hermione not nagging him about the Potions text, Harry was much more inclined to carry on a conversation with her. The two finally parted after Ginny found them in the courtyard. Just as Hermione was on her way to the library, she passed Professor Snape in an empty corridor. Her heart leapt at the sight of the wizard, even though he wore a dismissive scowl upon his face. Snape didn't look at her; his eyes remained straight ahead as he continued on with his brisk canter, but it was that smoothly uttered 'Miss Granger' that came out just loud enough for only Hermione hear as they crossed paths, that nearly made her grin like an idiot.

* * *

Hermione was completely unaware that two black eyes were covertly glued to her frame as she hunched over a pile of books and parchment at her favourite desk in the library. She preferred to remain out of sight and either sat near the window or at one of the tables placed far away from the main stacks.

Now her curly head was bent so low towards her work that she could practically lick the parchment. Snape typically only came up behind select male students—usually it was always the same students— during study period that used the time to socialise rather than attend to their schoolwork. A quick shove at the back of their head was enough to direct their attention back to their books. For everyone else, a sharp glare was enough to convey his point. Rare had been the instance where he had to tell Granger to focus on her work, although the few times he did so, she was next to the chatty wizarding duo.

Refusing to allow the witch to catch sight of him, Snape hung far back enough while remaining close enough to notice the way half of Hermione's curls were caught beneath her collar. Some of the unruly corkscrew-shaped strands looked as if they were trying to spring free and tickled the underside of her jaw.

Half-tempted though he was to step forward and tug Hermione's hair out of her face, as he was sure she was unable to see the writing in front of her with those curls hanging in her eyes, Snape resisted, despite one particularly frizzy lock seemingly begging for him to reach out and twirl it round his finger.

Snape was curious to know how Hermione would react if he were to tell told her that she studied just like he did when he was a student: hunched over and appearing to be oblivious to everything going on. (Snape had learned early on that it never boded well for him to be actually be unaware of his surroundings and its occurrences, as that was when the Marauders chose to attack him. Though never Pettigrew, as he had always seemed a bit leery of Snape, but he damned sure got a laugh at his expense) The witch also seemingly carried around every book she owned; it had been hard to ignore the thump of her weighed down rucksack whenever it hit the floor in his classroom.

When Snape first began at Hogwarts, he didn't have a ruck for the longest. He had to literally scoop up his supplies each day and tote them around in his arms. Snape also chose the less trodden areas of the library to study in, although that hadn't stopped ancient Madam Pince (he used to think of her as Madam Pinch, because of her pinched features) from happening across his work area and chastising him for writing in the margins of his books. She also took that opportunity to point out the obvious, that he was always carrying his textbooks in his arms instead of a rucksack like the other students. The then eleven-year-old Snape had no reply to that comment; he didn't have a rucksack because his mum claimed she forgot, but he knew that there had been no extra money after purchasing his school robes, wand, and books. The stodgy librarian had gone away without another word, returning with a bag that looked fairly new. After thumping it unceremoniously on top of his desk with a curt 'Take this and use it before you break your back', Madam Pince skulked off again, most likely to go fuss at another group of students across the library who could be heard horsing around when they were supposed to be studying.

From an early age, Snape eschewed anything that so much as hinted at charity, most likely a habit picked up from his father. Oftentimes Tobias hadn't enough money for the household but had been too prideful to accept what he considered handouts. Severus had wanted to tell his father that that was all well and good for him to take the high road, but it was him and his Mum who were stuck at home with a bare cupboard. Of course, he knew better than to point this out and kept his mouth shut, not wanting to end up being knocked flat on his back.

The rucksack had looked fairly new, and it did turn out to be useful and more convenient than trying to balance everything in his arms when going between classes, and Severus used it until the seams began splitting. By then Severus had enough money to purchase things on his own, yet he never forgot the odd exchange between him and the arbitrary librarian, whom he only referred to as Madam Pince from then on out.

Speaking of the devil; Madam Pince was now crossing the room with an oversized tome in her arms. Either what looked like a first-year or a small older student crossed paths with her, and the elderly witch looked offended as though the child had no reason to be in her library. The young boy looked frightened and hurriedly ran in the other direction, and Snape was sure that Madam Pince now wore a pleased look on her shriveled face.

_Old bat. Oh, wait, she's the vulture and I'm the bat. _

The only reason Snape doubled back to the library was because he noticed Draco heading in that direction. Curiously absent of his band of goons, something that was happening more and more as of late, Snape had been surprised when Draco settled down at a desk in a quiet end of the library and took out a book. Of course, it was a mystery as to if the boy was actually reading it, but as long as he was doing something that did not involve harming another person, Snape was all for it. Seeing Hermione had been an unexpected yet pleasant surprise.

Only now another student was making his way across the library and in her direction, and the sight of said student was almost enough for Snape to offer his condolences.

While Neville Longbottom was not as pernicious as Seamus Finnigan, both boys shared the tendency to cause devastation, as demonstrated more times than Snape could count in Potions class. Slughorn could often be heard complaining about the two to other professors, and whenever Snape overheard the older wizard's griping, he never attempted to conceal his amusement.

It was obvious that Longbottom was asking Hermione for help on what looked like the essay for Defence. While he had half a mind to butt in and make the boy do his own work, Snape was not in the mood to subject himself to Longbottom's gibbering state which was what he was always reduced to whenever the professor came within ten feet of him.

No, Granger had more patience to deal with the likes of Longbottom, and Snape left the two to carry on.

* * *

When Saturday rolled around, nearly all of Hogwarts was present for the Quidditch game. Hermione usually went down to the pitch with Ginny, but since she was playing that day, Hermione ended up going with Luna. The blonde had on her Spectrespecs and a necklace made of butterbeer corks, and was getting odd looks from other students as the two walked. Hermione glared at anyone that dared to say anything, but Luna, like always, was lost in her own world and paid no mind to the strange looks.

Luna also didn't pay any attention to the Quidditch game at hand when it finally started, and this was a bone of contention for Professor McGonagall, as Luna was appointed commentator for the day. Trilling on about everything except for details about the game, Luna's dreamy voice filled the stands as she rattled off at random. Several times McGongall had actually leaned across Hermione to snatch the megaphone out of Luna's hand and yell out the score in a brogue that was thicker than usual, perhaps because of impatience.

The entire thing was funny, although the hilarity was short lived when Harry could be seen yelling at McLaggen. Peering through a pair of binoculars, Hermione noticed that Harry looked absolutely livid while perching midair on his broomstick.

Even though three months had passed since Slughorn's Christmas party, the memory of McLaggen pushing her against the wall was still fresh in Hermione's mind. While she never wanted anyone to get seriously hurt, whether they were in Gryffindor or not, Hermione secretly admitted to herself that she would not mind terribly if McLaggen got roughed up a bit that day. Judging by the looks of it, several of his fellow teammates also had the same ideas, as they shot the bulky wizard murderous glances whenever he came in their direction.

Luna's commentatorial was apparently still not up to scratch for Professor McGonagall, because she ended up nudging her out of the way and taking her place in the podium. Luna looked sore at having to give up her place, but McGonagall snapped at her while trying to keep her eyes on the players at the same time, and she finally took a seat next to Hermione.

"I don't know why McGonagall made me move," said Luna, craning her neck to look up at the sky. "I don't think I was doing a bad job. Do you?" she asked, now looking at Hermione, her blue eyes enlarged behind the thick lenses of her Spectrespecs.

"Err..." Hermione trailed off, knowing that now was a good time to keep her mouth shut. "Oh look! Gryffindor's scored again!"

Hufflepuff was doing their best to get another goal, when Hermione noticed McLaggen doing something else she was sure would make their captain brassed off. The meddlesome idiot had taken one of the Beater's bats and was swinging it around. In spite of being on a broomstick, with his bulky frame he looked like a caveman swinging around a club. Hermione might not have known the ins and outs of Quidditch, but she did know enough to be sure that a Keeper had no business with a Beater's bat, since his main focus should have been the red Quaffle.

Which had just soared past his ear.

Harry was beside himself and Hermione knew that if she were close enough to him, she would most likely hear him swearing at McLaggen. Three minutes later, it was McLaggen's interference that cause Gryffindor to lose the game.

Once again he had taken Jimmy Peakes' Beater's bat and was swinging it around, only this time he mis-hit an oncoming Bludger and sent it straight in Harry's direction. The crowd gasped; Hermione's stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch as she saw Harry fall off his broom and careen down to the ground. McLaggen was still on his broom, looking as if he had egg on his face, while an annoyed Peakes and Coote raced to save Harry from splitting his head open.

McGonagall forgot about the game; she was too busy berating McLaggen over the megaphone. Having McGonagall yell at you was one thing, but to have her chastisement amplified and broadcasted over a whole arena was a different story. McLaggen at least had the grace to looked embarrassed over his blunder, but with Harry out of the game, the Hufflepuff Seeker caught the Snitch with ease and the game was shortly ended.

"Well, I didn't see that coming," Luna commented as she and Hermione walked back to the school.

Harry had been taken back into the changing rooms on a stretcher, and then removed to the hospital wing. He stayed unconscious the entire time, and Hermione had gone sick with worry. Then when she heard Luna speak, the only thing she could do was look at her and those silly oversized glasses. Had she been in a better mood, Hermione would have replied that she didn't know how Luna couldn't see the galaxy with those thick lenses, but she was so beside herself that the only thing she could do was fight back a sob.

"He's going to be OK, Hermione," Luna told her soothingly.

"He could have cracked his head open!" Hermione exclaimed, shaking her head as if forcing the very thought out of her mind.

"But he didn't," Luna pointed out.

"Yes, I know," Hermione replied, although that affirmation did nothing to unclench the knot in her stomach.

Madam Pomfrey would not allow anyone into the hospital wing to see Harry, something that wasn't a great shock. So Hermione spent the remainder of her day in the common room, listening to the rest of her classmates abuse McLaggen, blaming him for their Seeker's injury and the loss of the game.

"You bleedin' _idiot!_" Ginny screamed at McLaggen soon as he slithered out of the portrait hole. "Were you trying to get someone killed!?"

Advancing on McLaggen until he had no choice to step back, something that shocked Hermione as well as a few of the others as McLaggen completely towered over Ginny, he hit the wall and remained spluttered angrily at being subjected to her insults.

Ginny went on to using a few more choice words that made even a few of the portraits hung on the walls cover their ears. Apparently McLaggen had also been shouting criticism at her during the game, and it was evident that Ginny hadn't been unable to lay into him right when the game ended, because now she was giving him an earful.

"Come on off, Ginny. Just leave him alone." Demelza Robbins, who played Chaser that day, was trying to plead. She was the sort that hated confrontation and was tugging on Ginny's elbow, trying get her away from McLaggen, but Ginny merely swatted her hand away as it were an annoying gnat.

"Why? He's not going to do anything," said Ginny challenging, her brown eyes flashing angrily, "because if he even _tried, _I'd hex his balls off!"

"What else was I suppose to do?" McLaggen shot back, nostrils flaring as he began to rear up like an angry bull. "We were losing and I didn't want—"

"Oh, that's bollocks and you know it!" interrupted Coote, who had been standing nearby with his arms crossed. "You were trying to bloody show off and you know it. You cost us the game and nearly killed Harry. So much for teamwork."

"Yeah, and nearly killed us trying to catch him," Peakes muttered from behind him.

"Yes, thank you for that," Ginny said in a tight voice without turning her head, still staring down McLaggen. "Useless tosser," she added in disgust before stalking away from a red-faced McLaggen.

Ginny stomped up to the girls' dormitory, unaware that Hermione was right behind her. Stopping at her bed, she began pulling off her dusty Quidditch robes and chucked each item onto the closed top of her trunk.

"You all right?" Hermione asked gently when Ginny plopped down and began yanking at the laces on her brown trainers.

"Yeah," she admitted grudgingly, finally freeing both feet and kicking the trainers to the side.

"I remember when you were too shy to even speak when Harry was around; now you're threatening to castrate others on his behalf."

That seemed to bring Ginny around, because a small smile could be seen through her long curtain of red hair partially hiding her face.

"Dean was next," Ginny told her bitterly. "Did you hear him going on about how funny Harry looked when he fell off his broom?"

"No!"

"Well, he was. D'you know Dean asked me out too? Even though he knew Harry and I are going together. I just don't get these boys. Anyway, I'm starving and I need a shower. Want to sneak down to the kitchens with me when I'm done?"

Hermione told her yes, and that she would wait for her up in the dormitory. McLaggen had gone somewhere, most likely eager to avoid further abuse from his housemates. Though it was still noisy down in the common room and Hermione could hear the loud, mingled voices of her classmates rehashing the Quidditch game and the twenty ways McLaggen annoyed them. While she waited for Ginny to come back from her shower, Hermione thought about the way she had stepped to McLaggen and yelled at him. She couldn't lie; it had been satisfying to watch the petite witch verbally assault the much larger wizard and bring him down to size. Either McLaggen knew about Ginny's prowess with a wand when it came to throwing hexes, or maybe he knew that her older brothers would somehow find him and rearrange his face, because McLaggen had shut up after a while and let Ginny rant at him.

Thinking of her own saviour who indirectly got revenge for McLaggen putting his hands on her, Hermione wondered where Snape was. It wasn't as if she would be able to sneak and see him any time soon; the common room was packed with her housemates and it wasn't likely that they would be going to bed within the next few hours.

Unless she could sneak Harry's map out of his trunk...

But the trip to get the map proved fruitless. It took Hermione all of two minutes to run over to the boys' dormitory and see if anyone was inside. It was completely empty, and she made her way to Harry's trunk. Rooting through its usual assortment of dirty socks and sweet wrappers, her search came up empty.

_Damn, _Hermione silently griped as she walked back to the girls' dormitory.

There was definitely no way she could sneak down to Snape's room. Perhaps Harry had previously planned a bit of his own sleuthing because the Invisibility Cloak was gone as well. Hermione reasoned that she could Disillusion herself, but even then it was a tossup as to whether the professor was even inside the school. She hadn't seen him all day, although he only ever attended Quidditch games if Slytherin was playing.

Typically Hermione was able to excise patience, but right now was not one of those times. It was becoming quite clear to her how feeling something for another person could put one out of their comfort zone, as displayed by Ginny when she confronted and threatened McLaggen, as well as Lavender going mental over Ron. Most people would get upset when someone they cared about was hurt, a feeling that Hermione was all too familiar with. Ginny did a better job of controlling her emotions than Lavender, while Hermione did not have the luxury of letting anything show unless she was alone. No one would understand why Hermione would become upset over Severus being hurt, and even if they had, she still would not have divulged.

Hermione ended up not seeing Snape that night, but she did spend the remainder of her day with Ginny. It was clear that the redhead was worried over Harry, even without her saying so. Figuring that it was hard to have her brother and now boyfriend in the hospital wing, Hermione did her best to try and take things off Ginny's mind.

When the two first met, it seemed that they didn't have much in common. It wasn't until Hermione and Ginny were a bit older that they became closer, especially since they slept in adjacent beds either at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place. Where Ginny had been somewhat reserved at first, it wasn't until after nearly losing her life in the Chamber of Secrets that she grew a bit more confident. Ginny had openly admitted to bristling at the sight of Harry and Cho Chang together, and it was then that Hermione told her that Harry would come around, that she should see other people and just be herself. Prior to that, it had been Ginny who told Hermione that she needn't kill herself with trying to make everyone forget that she was a Muggle-born witch, that she was just as good as anyone else at Hogwarts, and didn't her grades reflect that?

Hermione had been surprised that Ginny offered so much insight when she barely said anything on the topic before, but realised that the younger witch had a point. And Ginny hadn't been nasty about it, either. Even during Hermione's fourth year, when Mrs Weasley all but accused Hermione of chasing after Viktor Krum while confusing the china-cup fragile minds and hearts of Harry and Ron, it had been Ginny to tell a crestfallen Hermione to ignore her mum, that she sometimes had nothing better to do than to follow the gossip in rubbish magazines.

"Mum's going to go spare," Ginny was now saying. She and Hermione were tucked into a corner of the common room. Only a few of their housemates were still lingering around, most of them having already gone up to bed. "First Ron gets poisoned, now Harry gets hurt."

"I suppose, but it was Mrs Weasley who told me she was used to your brothers banging themselves up," Hermione replied.

"Yeah, but between everything going on here, not to mention Fleur staying at the Burrow and driving her round the twist whenever Bill isn't home, she is not going to be happy. Ugh, Hermione, you should have heard Fleur trying to sing at Christmas! It was bloody horrible; my ears are still swearing at me."

Ginny then launched into an impromptu , warbling off-key version of Fleur's lilting voice in song, and Hermione almost snorted the milk she had been drinking up her nose.

"Ginny!" she chortled, trying to snort milk out of her nostrils. "That's horrible!"

"You're telling me? I'm the one that had to sit there and listen to that shite all week. Then Mum didn't want to be left alone with Fleur, and you know it's hard for me and Harry to find alone time with Ron around. Do you know how many times we were about to have a snog when Mum called me down to the kitchen to 'help her with dinner'? I was ready to tell Fleur to piss off purely so I could have a bit of peace."

"So I guess things between Bill and Fleur are getting serious?"

"So it seems," Ginny replied, rolling her eyes and holding both arms above her head, making exaggerated swaying motions with her hands. "But anyway, enough about _la sorcière blonde ennuyeuse. _See? I've even picked up a thing or two being around her. How are you?"

"I'm all right."

"Are you really, Hermione?"

Hermione frowned at Ginny over the lip of her goblet while draining the remains of her milk. "Yes. Why, do I not look all right?" she asked after wiping her mouth.

Ginny shrugged. "Sometimes you do, and then sometimes you look even more out of sorts than usual, like that time you swore up and down that you failed every final exam. I thought for sure you were going to have to be sedated."

Hermione half-laughed and cringed at the memory. She had spent nearly every waking hour revising and then almost had a panic attack once all their finals were finished. Visions of herself flunking out of Hogwarts as well as regular school, and then making a living by lugging around a carryall with pencils or knives and going door-to-door to sell her wares kept flooding her mind. To make matters worse, Fred had told Hermione that if she didn't pass her classes that she could come work with him and George whenever they opened up their joke shop. That had been two years prior to them actually having a shop, and the thought of selling 'new-and improved' Puking Pastilles to have enough money to buy groceries and cat food until she was old and grey, as she was sure she would end up a cat lady, had made her hysterical. The twins as well as Ron had laughed uproariously when Hermione looked horrified. Harry had tried not to laugh, but Ginny yelled at everyone and told them to leave Hermione alone.

"No, I'm fine. I guess I'm just overwrought about everything and then trying to study...it's a lot to deal with," Hermione finally answered.

"Well I know you have Harry and my brother to confide to," Ginny continued, "and I _know _they just love a good heart-to-heart. But if you ever need another pair of ears, I'm here."

Ginny smirked and Hermione laughed, as both girls knew that Harry and Ron would run away at the first hint of deep and meaningful conversation. While they offered good advice at times, both boys would usually try to find out what was wrong and then go about the best way of fixing it, never mind hashing the ten-million what-ifs about the situation. Besides, part of Hermione's stress entailed the secret life of Severus Snape, and she wouldn't even tell God about what she knew.

"Thanks, Ginny. I do appreciate the offer," Hermione told her.

"No problem," Ginny replied through a yawn. "But I'm knackered and I need my bed. Are you coming up?"

"Not yet. Goodnight."

"'Night, Hermione."

* * *

Harry and Ron were released from the hospital wing that following morning. Ron tried to feign still feeling ill when he thought about the upcoming amount of homework that he would receive that week.

"Yeah, you don't look so hot," Harry replied. "In fact, I think I'm still a bit under the weather, too. Maybe we should–"

"Oh, knock it off, you two," Hermione cut in. "You're both perfectly fine, else Madam Pomfrey would have made you stay.

Things swiftly nearly went back to normal. Harry's meetings with Dumbledore continued, although Hermione had to hide her outrage when she found out how the headmaster made Harry feel somewhat ashamed when he said that he had still been unsuccessful at obtaining the memory from Slughorn. Even Ron had been shocked that Dumbledore mentioned nothing about him being poisoned or Harry's skull nearly being split open: he was only concerned with that fact that Harry still did not have the memory.

"You know, I never thought about how the pawn in Wizard's chess might feel," Ron commented. "But now I think I do."

If Harry agreed, he didn't say so. Hermione definitely agreed but was shocked to the point of silence by Dumbledore's dismissal for both of her friends' wellbeing.

Then again, how many times had Snape returned from a meeting with his back and chest sliced open from multiple hexes, his blood staining his hands and shirt? If Dumbledore was not concerned about a person bleeding out, a person whom he supposedly trusted above all others, why would he be worried about a poisoned wizard and another who hit his head?

The next week, it had been Hermione's turn to be annoyed with Harry. She, Harry and Ron were in the common room finishing their homework. Actually, Hermione had long finished hers and was looking over Harry's essay and then helping Ron to finish writing his. Just as Ron was nearly done, a loud crack echoed throughout the common room, and Dobby and Kreacher appeared.

Dobby looked odd as ever, with a tea cosy on his head, while Kreacher wore scraps of rags that seemed to be filthier than usual. Hermione was still leery of Kreacher, remembering each time he tried cornering her off at Grimmauld Place. The surly house-elf kept looking at his gnarled toes whenever Harry spoke, but Dobby immediately ran over to the trio, happy to see them.

A few minutes of conversation was enough for Hermione to learn that Harry had asked Kreacher to follow Draco Malfoy around. Dobby had been ecstatic to volunteer for the job, and turned out to be the only helpful one of the two house-elves. Ignoring Kreacher's incessant fawning over Malfoy and his delicate pureblood features, Harry questioned Dobby and found out that Malfoy had been making regular trips to the Room of Requirement. That tidbit of knowledge made Hermione's indignation at Harry's usage of both house-elves short-lived. Kreacher calling her a Mudblood before Disapparating out of the common room also helped things along.

With Harry's suspicions now heightened tenfold, his Marauder's Map and Cloak barely left his side. The last time Hermione saw Snape in private had been the night where they fell asleep in his front room on his transfigured tatty and uncomfortable sofa. The few times Snape did show face in the Great Hall for meals, he either ate a little or merely picked over his food— Hermione could never tell, sitting at a distance— and then took his leave.

Continuing with her nightly Prefect patrols, sometimes with Ron at her side, Hermione hoped that Snape would happen across her on those evenings when she was alone, but it never happened. Hermione tried not to take his absence personally; she knew that Snape was dealing with things that he could not share with her. She got the impression that he wanted to talk to her, perhaps as form of catharsis, but the words never came. It was if something was eating away at the professor, some dark thing lurking in the corner of his mind and waiting to sink its claws and razor-sharp teeth dug into the sinews of his wiry body, and only she, besides the professor, was able to sense it.

That unspoken, unnamed thing was part of what drove Hermione's need to see the professor, and not just in passing. She had picked up on his agitation that night, even though it was she who had been on the verge of tears. Hermione hazily remembered waking up at one point, her face still pressed against Snape's neck. His cravat had still been in place, and the silky black fabric had been cool when her lips first touched it, soon growing warm from her breath. One of the round buttons lining his frock coat had been pressing onto the clasp at the front of her bra through her jumper, yet those small uncomfortable things hadn't been enough to make Hermione move out of the haven of Severus' arms.

Even though she tried to tell Snape to go to sleep, it had been a while before slumber actually came for him. Hermione could tell that he was still awake by his breathing, although his grasp around her body never slackened. Whatever he had been thinking about, Snape's thoughts were nearly loud enough to completely obliterate the silence in the room. In all actuality, the only sound had been the crackling fire at the hearth and the occasional contented purr from Crookshanks.

But even if Hermione was unable to see Snape, she tried to find other ways of making his life easier. The next Defence class, both Harry and Ron became lippy towards the professor when he asked how one would tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost. Hermione knew the answer and Harry's had been weak even if logically sound, yet Snape used that as an opportunity to embarrass the young man. Ron immediately jumped to Harry's defence, which caused Snape to take points from Gryffindor while also shaming Ron by publicly addressing his unsuccessful attempts at Apparition.

Noticing the wicked gleam in Snape's black eyes, Hermione immediately knew that the professor was on the war path and in no mood to be trifled with, although it was plain that he enjoyed Harry and Ron's discomfiture. She just managed to get her best friends to keep their mouths shut when they opened them to retort, knowing that they would only get more points taken from Gryffindor as well as end up with detention. Her reasoning was not completely altruistic; serving detention with Snape on the weekend meant less of a chance that Hermione could see the professor. While Harry and Ron would have been grateful to not serve detention with Snape, if they found out the other reason why Hermione was so against it...well, it was best to not think about that.

However, Hermione soon got her wish of having the professor close to her again, although she definitely did not foresee the circumstances surrounding the event.

It was dinnertime, although Hermione wanted to stop by Professor Vector's office to ask a question about an essay she'd turned it. Promising to meet Harry in the corridor, the two parted ways. Ron had left them a few minutes earlier, claiming the need for the bathroom.

Professor Vector laughed when she heard the knock on her door followed by Hermione's curly head peeping around the corner. It was customary for the studious witch to often second-guess herself when it came to her schoolwork and like clockwork, Hermione made an appearance. Appeased once she saw the bright-red five out of five in the top right-hand corner of her parchment, Hermione exhaled and thanked the professor before dashing off to meet Harry.

Hermione waited in the corridor, idling near a painting of a drowsy-looking hippopotamus floating in murky green water. After fifteen minutes there was no sign of the messy-haired wizard, and something told Hermione that Harry had gone up to the seventh floor to see if he could catch Draco in the Room of Requirement. Really, the entire thing with trying to catch Malfoy was getting out of hand; even Ron said that Harry was obsessed. But they could not ignore everything Dobby had relayed, and admittedly were curious as to how the blond was spending his time.

Put out and out of breath by the time she climbed several moving staircases, almost forgetting to jump over one of the tricky steps that made one's foot go right through it, Hermione began asking herself why she even bothered to try and track her friend down.

"Halt! You mangy cur—oh! Excuse me, fair maiden, I did not realise it was you standing there."

Sir Cadogan had been portrait hopping for reasons known only to him, and was now in a painting with a gaggle of puppies at his feet. Their little furry white bodies milled about the floor, all of their tails wagging as they moved forward to sniff at the odd man who came to visit. Upon seeing Hermione he had unsheathed his sword and held it out, only lowering it once she turned to face him.

"Hello, Sir Cadogan," Hermione greeted, almost at a loss for words at the sight of the fully bedecked knight completely surrounding by small poodles. "I should have just gone to dinner," she muttered, ignoring Sir Cadogan's flowery speech and peering down the empty corridor. "Harry can play detective if he feels like it, I have no need to get involved."

Just as she was about to tell Sir Cadogan goodbye, that she was looking for her friend, Hermione noticed a piece of parchment lying face down on the floor two feet away from where she was standing. Its creases and folds looked familiar, and without thinking, Hermione walked over and picked it up to find that it was indeed Harry's Marauders Map.

Something seemed completely off, as Harry would never just leave his precious map hanging around, and Hermione frantically began looking for his dot. Not three feet away from where her dot was, Hermione found Harry's as well as Draco Malfoy's dot together in a boys' bathroom.

Knowing Harry's penchant for diving headfirst into things, Hermione took off running, dropping her rucksack in the process. Something didn't seem right; putting Draco and Harry together in a room on a floor that was practically abandoned screamed 'bad idea'. Sticking a lion and a tiger in one cage would most likely prove more peaceful than either wizard.

Her suspicious were confirmed when a succession of rapid footsteps were heard behind the bathroom door, followed by two male voices shouting hexes and jinxes and foul swear words at one another.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled, flinging the door open and running inside.

A cistern had been smashed and water completely covered the floor; remnants of what looked like a lamp lay among the mess, and a pile of glass from a shattered mirror lie near the basin.

"What are you doing?! You'll be expelled!" she shouted, nearly colliding with Harry when she saw him about to fire another spell at Draco.

"Hermione, get out of here!" Harry thundered, crouching down and looking to see where Draco was hiding. His trousers were soaked although Harry paid it no mind as he sloshed through the waterlogged floor.

"Harry, let's go!" Hermione shouted once more, only for Moaning Myrtle's voice to join hers.

"They won't! They won't stop!" the ghost squealed, having just popped out from one of the stalls. "They won't listen to me!"

"Please, Harry!" Hermione pleaded, trying to pull him away. It was bad enough that the two were duelling in the bathroom, completely destroying it in the process, but if they were to be caught, Harry would be expelled for sure.

Just as Harry was about to yell at Hermione again, he saw something move out of the corner of his eye and fired another spell, causing a loud _bang _and creating a hole in the tiled wall. Suddenly, it was like watching a train wreck happen right before her eyes, only Hermione didn't realise what happened until it happened. Draco had darted out from another side of the bathroom and fired a hex at Harry and Hermione's direction, only it missed Harry and hit her squarely in the chest.

Hermione immediately staggered before dropping to her knees, her hands clawing at her neck and chest as she fought for air. Harry and Draco went on with their fight; Moaning Myrtle was still yelling hysterically, and Hermione fell to all fours, her hands now smacking against the water covering the floor as she desperately tried to get air back into her lungs.

_I'm dying, oh god, I'm dying! _

Unable to inhale or exhale even a wisp, it felt as if her lungs were caving in on her, and the edges of Hermione's vision grew fuzzy. Finally on the verge of blacking out, she didn't notice when Harry cast his final spell, sending Malfoy down to the drenched floor with a ribbons of his blood swirling in the clear liquid and making grotesque shapes around her hands.

* * *

Snape left dinner early that evening. He wasn't all that hungry; he was more suspicious as to why Draco had not showed up at the Great Hall. His black eyes quickly scanned the room, and found that Hermione as well as Potter were also missing. Weasley was present, as it was practically sacrilegious for the boy to miss a meal. He was steadily shoveling food into his mouth while talking to his sister.

Years of teaching experience had told Snape that when students were missing in action, without a valid excuse such as being infirm, they were up to no good. Plenty of times he caught couples kissing, some bolder ones even attempting to go further than awkward teenaged groping over their clothes.

Snape knew that Potter and Malfoy were doing anything but kissing; more like killing one another. The professor had never given up following Draco around. For the last few days, he'd encountered the wizard in abandoned areas of the castle. Twice he overhead the young man sobbing, and knew that Draco was alone, as he would never cry in front of anyone, not even his mother. Giving Draco privacy and the opportunity to retain what little dignity he had left, Snape left the boy in the boy in his little cubbyhole, never giving away the fact that he had been standing less than a foot away.

After getting up from the staff table without a word to any of his colleagues, Snape used the door behind the dais to exit the Great Hall. He was just on top of the landing at the first set of steps when one of the portraits told him to make haste to the boys' bathroom on the sixth floor.

Snape always deemed Sir Cadogan the Knight as a useless lump. He was more bluster than bite, as much as a portrait could bite, and prone to making an obscene amount of noise whenever someone was nearby. However, he proved to have some purpose that day as he scampered through each painting in aims of finding one of the professors.

"Bad form these young men have!" Sir Cadogan called behind Snape as he rushed up the staircase. "Do you not teach these children how to have a proper duel?"

_For fuck's sake, _Snape thought disgustedly as he hurried up to the sixth floor. As suspected, Draco and Potter were together, and no doubt casting hexes at one another. Snape knew for fact that Bellatrix had been teaching her nephew Dark magic, and took slight comfort in knowing that Potter could in fact handle himself, rather, he was skilled at dodging curses. Even if Potter knew Dark spells, it was a mystery as to if he would be able to carry through with using them. Not if he was like..._her_, who wanted nothing to do with Dark magic. Annoying as Potter was, Snape grudgingly admitted that he had a lot of ways like his mother, even if he did not know it.

Yet when Snape flung the bathroom door open, he found a trembling Potter, his wand still out in front of him, looking completely detached from everything around him, a bloodied Draco, pale and prone and barely conscious in a flood of murky reddened water with his wand half-floating next to him...and a completely unconscious Hermione with both arms outstretched in front of her, hunched over almost in a macabre prayer position, as if she had been kneeling to face Mecca, her wild curls and white shirt soaked completely through with Draco's blood and water still rushing from the broken cistern.

* * *

**_I don't do cliffhangers, because they make me crazy and I want to hound the author until they update again (and I totally won't take offense if you curse me out lol trust me, I can take it.) BUT for what I plan on writing next... it fits better next chapter. But I will be updating again this week so no worries :D_**


	35. Chapter 35

_**A/N: So...um, sorry? I really meant to update that week BUT THEN I found out that I need to get a second operation (which is happening May 31) on my wrist because the fracture isn't healing like it should. No wonder the damned thing still hurts. But in lieu of the missing update, I will be posting two within the day. Plus this got insanely long and I was nowhere near finished the next bit. I sound like a broken record but last go around I didn't reply to reviews and I feel terrible about that, but my hand really did hurt. But as a thank you I'm guessing that I should offer something? So optimistically speaking, if I get 2k reviews, whoever gets the 2000th can pick a one-shot of their choice, I'm not hung up on the pairing or the sort of story, I'll write pretty much anything. OK? So that's my offer because you all truly are the best. I have a few new followers and reviewers, hello and thank you! :D it's always nice to see a new name in my inbox.**_

_** Congrats to the lovely dragoon811 who just got married and a speedy recovery to the also lovely guiltypleasure who also had surgery! We're going to be pain pill buddies.**_

_**Want something new to read? Check out CRMediaGal's 'The Awakening'. It's a damned good SSHG fic and she made me cry over my glass of wine and keyboard last night. **_

_**And on a final note, I hope you enjoy this bit. Remember more will be following so if you're thinking 'Is that it?!' the answer is no. Oh yeah, does anyone know where I can watch 'A Clockwork Orange'? I can never find it short of buying the dvd. Got the book (Christ almighty) but I do love Kubrick (ahem, remember I mentioned Lolita in the beginning of this story?) but his stuff is damned hard to find. AND someone stole my Lolita dvd and I'm still mad as hell about that.**_

_****__**THANK YOU as always for the reviews, alerts, and favorites! They keep the Muse happy and don't make me feel as if my writing is all for naught.**_

* * *

If looks could kill, then Harry would have been dead the moment Snape returned, his body ending up lying next to Draco's in the bloodied water. It was quite obvious that the professor was completely livid as he stalked into the room, ire blazing in his eyes as he took in the sight before him.

Moaning Myrtle's keens echoed around the room; the sound of water gushing from one place and slowly draining into another could be faintly heard. Draco was fighting back sobs and Potter stood shell-shocked at the mayhem he had a hand in causing as his eyes darted between his classmates on the floor. Snape was oblivious to it all, as well as the hem of his teaching robes and trousers becoming heavy as they dragged through the wet floor and absorbed the moisture.

Whenever Snape heard someone use the phrase 'I literally felt my heart stop beating for a moment' he was tempted to kick them in the chest and ask if they also felt his foot. Yes, he knew that the phrase wasn't meant to be taken literally, but he was a literal sort of man that said exactly what he thought without bothering with euphemism. But when his shrewd black eyes fell upon the lifeless form of Hermione Granger, he was sure that his heart actually had stopped beating for a moment.

Once his adrenalin began racing, which seemed to jumpstart both his heart and brain, Snape realised he had precious little time to tend to Hermione and Draco.

It took Snape a split second to assess the situation; Draco was injured badly but he was breathing. Hermione was completely still, looking like the victim of a nasty hex that Snape knew most likely came from the blond. Everything else in a room turned into a blur as Snape walked, and he barely felt his boots coming in contact with the floor. Without looking at Potter he roughly shoved him aside, kneeling down at Hermione's side and swiftly turning her over. She had just taken her last gasping breath when Snape, operating on pure instinct, sharply tilted her head back and aimed his wand at her throat and chest, muttering the countercurse to the hex that clearly belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange, evidently having been passed onto Draco.

Unconcerned at the moment with the fact that Potter and Draco had been fighting, the only thing Snape worried about was opening Hermione's airway. Potter looked on dumbly as Snape repeated the countercurse twice more. Even though it had only been a few seconds, time seemed to stretch on when Hermione finally began drawing in deep lunges of air, gasping and coughing and scrambling to hold onto something in her semi-conscious state

"Help her to sit up," Snape ordered Harry in a tone that brooked no argument as he drew himself up and sloshed through the water to go and help Draco.

The wizard looked murderous and Harry thought it best if he just kept his mouth shut, and immediately took his place behind Hermione, propping her limp body up and allowing her soaking wet head to rest against his shoulder. Snape had waited beside Hermione until he walked over, and his robes brushed against Harry's hand as he took the professor's place. Without meaning to, Harry recoiled at the contact. He then struggled to grasp onto Hermione's shoulders and prop her up; his task was not easy by any means, as her body was dead weight against his and he had to simultaneously steady her head and torso as she kept threatening to tip over like a bag of sand.

Snape was now kneeling at Draco's side, muttering something under his breath and moving his wand across his face and torso, causing the deeply inflicted wounds to knit themselves closed and stop the flow of blood. All this took place with Moaning Myrtle's continuous sobs echoing throughout the bathroom, as she had remained nearby. Draco was marginally more lucid, and Snape soon helped him to a standing position. Words came out the professor's mouth, although Draco was in a such a state of shock that he was unable to reply. Harry, however, did not miss the cold fury in Snape's voice when he ordered him to remain in the bathroom until he returned.

Draco had shuffled over to the door and was holding onto the wall for support while Snape conjured a stretcher and levitated Hermione onto it. Between Draco's still incoherent state and his inability to move more than a few paces while still having to be supported by Snape as he walked, not to mention that Snape also had to concentrate on the stretcher holding Hermione ahead of him, the trek to the hospital wing was much slower than it would have been under other circumstances.

"Severus, what—" Poppy began, darting up from her desk and bustling over to a grim-faced Snape and his injured charges once they made it down to the fourth floor and inside the hospital wing. It had been his luck that they encountered no one on the way down as the last thing on Snape's mind was doling out explanations. At the first pointless comment he would have flown off the handle, emphasising that he was prone to being uncouth when someone was in his way.

"He needs Dittany," Snape explained tersely, cutting the matron off and levitating Hermione's stretcher to an empty bed across the ward. Poppy nodded her head and set off to retrieve the Dittany; she had never been one to ask many questions or chat idly, and for that Snape was grateful.

"And Miss Granger?" Poppy asked when she returned, taking hold of a subdued and extremely compliant Draco and steering him across to a fresh bed.

"I'll tend to her for now," Snape told her, using his wand to carefully shift Hermione's limp body from the stretcher and onto the bed. Between her soaked hair and soiled robes and uniform, she looked like a drowned kitten. The once stark-white pillow Hermione's head lay upon was now smudged with red, and Snape took his time siphoning the remaining blood from her skin and clothes. He had just pointed his wand at Hermione's hands when she came to for a moment and thrashed slightly, immediately clutching onto his sleeve nearest to her.

"Don't...please don't tell my parents!" she rasped out, her fingers biting into his wrist as panic clouded her brown eyes.

The witch sounded so frantic and continued clumsily pulling so fiercely on his sleeve that Snape wondered if she was about to have a panic attack. Hermione continued begging and pleading, her voice growing higher while incoherently mumbling something about her parents pulling her out of school if they were to find out that she'd been hurt.

Not wanting Madam Pomfrey to come over and investigate the newfound source of shrill noise, Snape bent his head a few inches away from Hermione's agitated face and spoke in a tone soft enough that only she was able to hear him. The oily curtains of his black hair covered his face, and even if Pomfrey were to come to the bedside, she wouldn't have been able to see his lips moving.

Placated by those few reassuring words meant only for her ears, Hermione white-knuckled fingers gradually loosened their hold on Snape's sleeve, and she settled back and allowed sleep to consume her.

"I understand it may be an inconvenience, but I would prefer it if only myself, the headmaster, and McGonagall come in contact with either Miss Granger or Mister Malfoy," Snape told Poppy once he'd moved from Hermione's side. "No other professors, and _no_ students under any circumstances."

"It's fine by me, Severus," the matron replied dismissively, now making her way over to Hermione.

Snape also gave explicit instructions for Poppy to keep Hermione and Draco on separate ends of the wing before excusing himself to go deal with the nuisance waiting for him up in the sixth-floor bathroom.

Potter was still standing in the same place he'd been in when Snape told him to not leave. Soon as he stepped foot back into the bathroom, the young wizard began bumbling over an explanation of how he didn't know what spell he was using. Snape was in no mood for stories or excuses: he knew just what spell Potter had used against Draco. The question was _how _did he come across it.

"_I didn't know,_" Snape echoed quietly, walking towards Potter and coming to a standstill two feet across from him. "Is that right?" he continued although his question was rhetorical. "Apparently I underestimated you, Potter. Who would have thought you knew such Dark magic? Who taught you that spell?"

"I—read about it somewhere."

"Where?"

"It was—a library book. I can't remember what it was call—"

Snape was almost floored by the fact that Potter expected him to take in, swallow, and digest the tripe he was offering. The words _do I look like a fool? _were on the tip of his tongue, but Snape refrained, knowing what Potter's smart-alecky answer would entail, to which he would surely end up swiftly levitating the boy and send him crashing into a wall. Madam Pomfrey would then have with a third patient, and Dumbledore would conveniently show up to chastise Snape for harming Gryffindor House's consummate Golden Boy.

"Liar," Snape cut in, closing the space between them and nastily staring down into the pair of familiar green eyes without blinking. He was sure that Potter truly did not have any idea of what casting _Sectumsempra _entailed, but that point was moot at the moment, considering the one person he had been sworn under duress to look after had nearly bled out on the floor of the boys' lavatory, and the only other person he chose to look after, purely for his own reasons, nearly suffocated to death.

"How did you and Mister Malfoy come to be alone in this room in the first place?" Snape then asked, although he had already begun to form his own conclusions. He never forgot about the very first Apparation lesson the Great Hall when Potter gave his friends the slip and conveniently showed up and stood a few inches away from where Draco and his flunkies were. As far as Snape was concerned, coincidences were rare as hen's teeth when it came to Potter, and chance had nothing to do with the current situation at hand.

Snape then ordered Potter to bring his schoolbag with all of his books to the lavatory. The young wizard never got the chance to answer the Snape's last question as stumbled out of the bathroom, looking every bit in a daze as he brushed past the professor, who refused to move one inch to accommodate the boy.

With Potter momentarily absent, Snape began fully taking in the sabotaged bathroom. Most of it could be repaired by a few spells and charms, although the cistern was mostly a pile of rubble and would have to be replaced. Images of Filch's face once he saw the mess came to mind; the caretaker was going to demand blood and then some as pittance for the mangled lavatory. It would be just as well, considering how much of Draco's still covered the floor.

Snape continued to find it hard to believe that Potter had the moxie to use such a dangerous spell. Even more disconcerting was the manner in which Potter learned of said spell.

_Library book, my arse._

There was no doubt in Snape's mind as to where Potter came across the unique spell. Some hexes in library books had been relatively tame in comparison to Severus Snape's _Sectumsempra _which had been the sole reason in creating it. He'd needed something that housed enough power to make his enemies leave him alone, yet not so strong that it would outright kill them. Slow and methodical torture had been two attractive qualities of the spell, and Snape cherished his work so much that he never told anyone about it, not even Lucius Malfoy, the only person whom he had sometimes confided to in their youth.

It was clear that Potter thought him an idiot, and Snape welcomed the opportunity to show just how much of a idiot he was.

When Potter returned to the bathroom with his rucksack in tow, Snape purposely avoided the Potions text, lingering over his indirect interrogation by making sure to look at all the other books first. Guilt was etched all over Potter's face and he squirmed uncomfortably as he watched Snape slowly go through his belongings.

"If you're going to be sick, Potter, I suggest doing so elsewhere. You've already created enough work for Filch; the last thing he needs is to clean up your vomit as well."

A quick thumb-through told Snape that the book in his hands was not the one that Potter had been using since the start of term; he did not even have to glance at the 'Roonil Wazlib' scrawled in chicken scratch on the inside cover, although it was glaringly obvious who the atrocity of a misnomer belonged to.

Besides that, Snape knew better; instantly he knew that Potter somehow had found his old copy of _Advanced-Potion Making_ and using all the addendums scrawled in it, which explained for the unaccountable spike in his Potions grades, as well as Slughorn's sickening gurgling over the boy. Even more surprising was the fact that a little fuzzy-headed now unconscious goody two-shoes had never mentioned the book.

Snape had always loathed cheaters and those who never saw fit to put forth the effort of studying to secure high or even passing grades. His own House had been full of them when he was a boy at Hogwarts. However, most ignored the odd stringy-haired wizard and begged the other sociable and somewhat diligent students for assistance. While being ignored might have been a bone of contention for Snape, he got the last laugh in the end considering that his grades were usually higher than everyone else's, and not just in Slytherin. Besides, it was easier to study when no one was filling your ear with vapid banter.

It was no secret that many only went to Hermione when they needed help with homework. Potter and Weasley were usually the ones most guilty of this infraction, and Granger was more lenient with them, but countless times Snape had overheard her snapping at the two that they needed to finish their own work and leave her alone. Surely she would have had a lot to say on the subject of her best friend outright cheating in class.

"Do you know what I think, Potter?" said Snape, very quietly. "I think that you are a liar and a cheat and that you deserve detention with me every Saturday until the end of term. What do you think, Potter?"

Snape observed that Potter looked the way he had during each of his failed Occlumency lessons, only this time the boy was unable to look him in the face. Using Occlumency was highly unnecessary at the moment, as Potter's body language screamed 'guilty' not to mention that he was almost literally green around the gills. It was only natural for Potter to disagree with being given detention, and Snape was tempted to ask if he preferred expulsion instead. Of course, the last thing he felt like doing was giving up his Saturday mornings to make sure that the leader of the Golden Trio kept his arse out of trouble; he'd had enough of babysitting teenagers over the summer at Grimmauld Place. But at least knowing where Potter was for a few hours of his free time would ensure that he and Draco were kept apart.

"Ten o'clock Saturday morning, Potter. My office."

"But sir, there's a Quidditch match—" Potter protested, finally having found the nerve to look up.

"You heard what I said," Snape whispered. "Ten o'clock. Now get out of my sight."

* * *

Hermione shifted slightly, frowning in her sleep when she felt her body cocooned beneath something warm and unbelievably soft. Confused for a moment, she wondered when she had fallen asleep and how she had made it upstairs and into bed. Straining to hear her snoring housemates, Hermione then pondered on the stark silence of the room. It was when she finally opened her eyes that she found herself tucked securely in a narrow bed in Hogwarts' dimly lit hospital wing.

_What...? How did I get in here?_

Slowly turning her head to the side, Hermione saw through blurry vision that privacy screens had been set up around her bed. It was still a mystery as to why she was even in the hospital wing until she shifted her weight and felt a soreness in her chest. It hurt to breathe and she had to draw in little bits of air at a time, and she winced whenever her chest expanded too much. Had she fallen? If so, why couldn't she remember...

A sudden sharp twinge was enough to make the events of that day come rushing back, and Hermione gasped in shock, then in discomfort as the hitching sent another jolt of pain throughout her body.

Hermione had truly believed that she was doing to die, lying among a blood and waterlogged floor of the sixth floor boys' lavatory. It felt as if someone had used both hands to reach into the cavity of her chest, where they proceeded to grip and fist her lungs and squeeze every ounce of air out of them. She had been unable to inhale or exhale, and nearly panicked when her throat also felt as if it was on the verge of collapse.

Hermione had once gone shopping with her Mum when they witnessed someone in the throes of a severe asthma attack. That shopping trip had been scary and she was grateful that she had never been inflicted with the ailment. However, whatever curse Draco hit her with had been just as bad as that girl's asthma attack, Hermione swore that she could literally feel her lungs dwindling into nothing.

It was a preposterous thought, but for a brief moment Hermione thought it ironic that her last moments should be spent desperately fighting for a bit of oxygen. She had been sure that she would either be knocked off by a Death Eater or the like, perhaps in the middle of hand-to-hand combat. Although another Slytherin had nearly been the cause of her expiration, all because Hermione had gotten in the middle of his and Harry's fight.

Just as she had been unable to keep her eyes open any longer, Hermione had become vaguely aware of no longer being face down in the water, but staring up into the high-arched ceiling of the lavatory. It took another second before her eyes focused on the face in front of hers, and her oxygen-starved brain led her to believe that a dark-haired angel was hovering over her, ready to end her suffering.

The dark-haired figure turned out to be not an angel but Professor Severus Snape. As far as Hermione was concerned, the man was an angel and a saint one hundred times over after using whatever spell it was that eradicated her inability to breathe.

The events following that had been fuzzy, as Hermione saw spots flashing past her eyes before passing out again. Now was the first time she opened her eyes since being hexed. Numbly taking inventory of everything, she lifted the edge of the sheets and saw that she had been dressed in the standard hospital issued two-piece pyjamas. It wasn't her nightgown but they were better than nothing.

Feeling a strong urge to yawn, even though she had been asleep for the past few hours, Hermione resisted, not wanting to feel that awful pain in her chest again. She had the idea that Malfoy had also been hurt, vaguely remembering that Harry had used a spell on him that sounded foreign to her ears. She'd heard Malfoy fall to the floor across from her, but had been so preoccupied with trying to catch her breath that she had been unable to look and see just what happened.

The sharp silence of the hospital wing only contributed to making Hermione more drowsy, although she was unable to go right back to sleep. She wanted to know what happened between her passing out and then waking up in the hospital wing, not to mention the outcome of the fight with Harry and Draco. She hoped that Harry wasn't in a serious amount of trouble, although something told her that he was.

Carefully turning over onto her side, Hermione drew the flannel blankets up to her neck and forced her eyes shut. Images of Harry and Draco fighting kept flashing behind them, plus rehashing her close brush with death. As much as she didn't want to admit that it nearly happened, there was no denying it; had Snape not gotten to her in time, she would not be lying in the tiny hospital bed with only the pale moonlight pouring in through the window above her head for company.

* * *

Once Snape sent Potter from the destroyed boys' lavatory, he went directly to McGonagall's study to inform her of what happened. He would have gone to the headmaster's office but saw no point in doing so; Dumbledore would most likely come up with a reason why Potter should not be expelled for seriously injuring another student. Of course, the headmaster would surely point out that the younger Malfoy also had a hand in harming a number of students and was still at school, and that was the last thing Snape felt like hearing.

"Severus, what is it?" McGonagall asked soon as she opened her door. It was extremely rare for Snape to seek out his other colleagues, and the look on his face clearly said that this was no social visit.

"I thought you should know that Mister Potter will be serving detention with me every Saturday from next week until end of term," he stated curtly.

McGonagall left out a long-suffering sigh; it had to be serious as Snape did not even wear his usual smug countenance that never failed to show whenever it came to him getting the upper hand with one of her Gryffindors. "What happened now?"

"Apparently he and Mister Malfoy ran into an altercation with one another. Potter came out unscathed but I cannot say the same for Draco and Miss Granger. Mister Malfoy is in the hospital wing with lacerations to his face and chest, and Miss Granger was close to asphyxiation, although the latter was due to a misfired spell from Malfoy's wand. I believe he was aiming at Potter."

"_Goodness_—are they alright?"

"They are now. "

"Thank goodness for that," said McGonagall. "I have no objections to Mister Potter serving detention with you, but shall I ask about Mister Malfoy?"

Snape arched an eyebrow, waiting for McGonagall to elaborate.

"Will he also receive detention, once he's out of the hospital wing, that is?"

_Really, woman? _"I would say that having your face and chest sliced open and losing half of your blood is punishment enough, wouldn't you?"

Snape didn't wait for McGonagall to reply. Instead he turned on his heel and walked away, ignoring the tutting noise from the elderly witch. He was somewhat surprised that she hadn't asked about Miss Granger and what she had to do with the boys' fight. Even so, Snape did not have an answer for that, as the details were still unclear to him.

One thing was for sure, Snape was incensed that she became hurt in the first place. What was even more shocking was the fact that his anger ran further than him being angry because of one student becoming hurt as a result of another student in his House, which meant more grief on the professor's part. Surely there would be an inquiry as to how the fight came about in the first place, but at least the same would be done for Gryffindor House.

Or not.

Going by personal experience, Snape knew that many, especially the headmaster, had a blind-eye when it came to the House of Godric Gryffindor and many of its witches and wizards. At least McGonagall hadn't fought him on the issue of Potter being given what still seemed like a lenient and unreasonable punishment.

Malfoy, on the other hand...had it not been for that damnable Unbreakable Vow, not to mention that the boy now being infirm, Snape might have lost his temper and wrung him by the neck. Hermione becoming hurt by way of Malfoy's wand had opened Snape's eyes to the naked truth, which was so poignant that it made him even more unsettled than he'd already been. Not to mention that it was absurd, because the Dark Lord would have him skinned alive had he learned that Snape was becoming distracted by a witch that was not even half-blood, but of purely Muggle parentage.

Yet denying it was futile, and fact remained that when Snape found Hermione lying on that red-streaked floor, all thoughts of the vow he made to Narcissa Malfoy to protect her and Lucius' only child went out the window; seeing the almost carbon copy of the black-haired, spectacled wizard who used to torment him in his youth standing in the bathroom hadn't even given Snape pause. The only thing he had been able to focus on was getting to Hermione to see if she was alright.

Even though she had been lying a mere two feet away from the entrance, it felt as if Snape had been walking forever as he made his way over to her. Draco had had been shaking uncontrollably while laying in a pool of his own blood while Potter daftly looked on, and both boys had been too distracted to notice the look of relief on Snape's face when he aimed his wand at Hermione and heard her properly suck in air.

The only emotion Snape never had trouble with displaying was anger, which was no surprise considering that he was generally construed as a bitter, angry old man. It was easy to fit into a role when everyone already expected it of him. But for months since dealing with Granger, some new emotion began creeping up on him, and now it literally had him by the balls.

_You're going to get her killed, and yourself in the process. End it, now, before this goes too far._

_Wouldn't you say that it's gone too far already? But you're not going to end it, because you're a selfish bastard. The least you can do is not lie to yourself._

_She's the one person that's never hated you; do you want that to change? End it now._

_She's going to hate you in the end, no matter what. That much is inevitable, so you may as well accept it._

Snape had to momentarily put away his painful ruminating as he made his way to the staff room. In an effort to keep the story of what happened between the three students in the lavatory from being twisted and shifted into some other tall tale, Snape thought it best that the other professor's hear its recount directly from him. A few members of the staff usually convened Thursday and Friday nights after dinner to pass gossip and share the odd nightcap. This evening was no different, as Flitwick, Vector, Sprout, and Hooch were all sitting at an old round wooden table in one corner of the room, a nearly empty bottle and four small glasses with a few drops of amber liquid dampening the bottoms pushed to the center.

"Severus!" Flitwick chirped, spinning round in his chair when the professor approached. "We were about to leave but you're more than welcome to join us if you like. I'll just conjure up another glass—"

"That won't be necessary, thank you," Snape interrupted. "I thought you all needed to be aware of, ah, a most _unfortunate _incident that just occurred between Mister Malfoy and Mister Potter."

"What, have they finally killed one another?" Hooch asked. "Wait, let me get a refill to soften the blow of this horrid news that sent you all the way down here to deal with us peasants," she continued, reaching for the bottle and her glass.

Snape smirked; Hooch had a mouth on her on a good day. When she was drunk it was another story. At least she wasn't the annoying type when inebriated; on the contrary, she tended to be quite amusing. Trelawney was the one that Snape wanted to hex whenever she overindulged in cooking sherry. The batty woman violated his space not to mention the stench of her cheap drink rendering her breath sour, and somehow she always ended up blowing right into his face.

"Go on, Severus," Sprout urged in a more serious voice. "Tell us what happened."

"Seeing as I won't be interrupted with Trelawney's claptrap and how she knew it was going to happen because of her third blind eye, I'll get right to it," Snape began, only to get cut off.

"Oh, don't mention that damned woman!" Hooch interrupted, having no qualms with speaking ill of her colleague. "Ran into her on the way here, going on about some nonsense; told her to get the hell away from me. One of these days I'm going to shove a broom right up her—"

"Rolanda!" Vector cut in, even though it was clear she agreed but was trying to keep a straight face. "She isn't that bad."

"Like hell she isn't. Slughorn is a right lush, too, but at least he keeps to his room," Hooch went on. "Anyway, Severus, as you were."

_Hypocrite much? Because that sure as shite isn't tea you've been nursing for the past hour, _Snape mused.

If Hooch was this loose with the tongue at talking about Trelawney when she wasn't around, then it was certain that she spoke about him just the same. Although Hooch had outright called him a surly git before, and Snape supposed that if someone were to talk about him he would rather them do it to his face than behind his back, the way everyone else did. Ignoring that, Snape began explaining about the fight between the student without forgoing detail. By the time he finished, his colleagues' faces displayed looks ranging between shock and horror.

"And you gave him detention until the end of term?" Sprout echoed, slight disbelief colouring her voice. "Isn't that a mite harsh?"

"Well..." Flitwick trailed off. "It _is _warranted, and besides, we aren't just talking about your regular run-of-the-mill wand fight, you know. I don't think I've ever heard of a spell that does what you've just told us."

"I'd like to think my punishment was rather generous," Snape coolly replied.

"Yeah, but do you have to sound so damned smug about it?" Hooch chortled. "Well then, Filius, look at this way: with Potter out of the match, perhaps you'll actually be able to win when your House plays Gryffindor."

Hooch's heckling prompted a light bickering between the professors, the news of Malfoy and Potter's fight soon forgotten. Snape left the staff room without saying goodbye, having had enough of the drunken conversation, no matter how full of truths it had been. It took another ten minutes to find Hogwarts' caretaker, whom proceeded to sputter angrily and launch with a heightened brogue into a tirade about 'killin' these feckin' little bastards an' stringin' them up by the feckin' ankles' when Snape told him about the mess on the sixth floor. Snape soon tired of watching Filch's jowls quiver with each snarled swearword and left the caretaker in the middle of the corridor, still cursing and snuffling to himself as he beckoned his dust-coloured cat to follow behind.

All of Snape's self-doubts and worries kept him away from the one person he wanted most to be close to for the next several days. He avoided the hospital wing, although Pomfrey sent her reports stating that Draco must have been feeling better as he sounded less like the pompous wizard that he had been raised to be and more like a sulky child being forced to take ill-tasting medicine, continuously whining about not wanting to be stuck in the hospital wing. Snape knew why Draco was trying so desperately to get out of the hospital wing; he wanted to go where no one would have him under their thumb. After giving the blond a brief once-over, Poppy gave him a clean bill of health and announced that he was free to go. Draco didn't look back once as he sauntered out of the ward.

Hermione was a different story. Even though she also insisted to Madam Pomfrey that she felt fine (which was a lie; she merely hated missing classes and thought she could just take it easy while walking throughout the castle) Snape had privately told the school matron that it would behoove her to keep the young Gryffindor under her care for a few more days, considering the severity of the hex that she had been subjected to. Upon Hermione's arrival to the hospital wing, Pomfrey hadn't known much about the curse Draco used; all she had been told by Snape was that Miss Granger had fallen to a nasty hex, the likes of which had never been using among the students and could only be cured by someone extensively trained in dealing with Dark Magic. That had been enough for Pomfrey, and she allowed Snape to make most of the decisions when it came to the bushy-haired witch.

Guilt ate away at the professor for leaving Hermione alone in the hospital wing. He was still brassed off at Potter, sure that he had instigated the entire thing, and permitted no one, not even him nor Weasley, to go visit their friend. Taking into account everything that happened, he trusted no one to go near Hermione. It was just as well, since Pomfrey was never a fan of her patients having visitors when they were on the mend, as she thought they needed as much rest as possible without any disruptions whatsoever.

Snape hadn't even wanted Hermione and Draco in the same room, but seeing as how that was unavoidable, he covertly casted a charm that would keep the boy from coming within ten feet of her. He knew McGonagall had gone in once to check on the girl, but reported that she had been asleep. The headmaster had been made aware of the situation between Granger, Potter, and Malfoy, yet said nothing to either Head of House.

Saturday morning, when Snape passed Potter and Weasley in the Great Hall during breakfast, he instantly caught the look of pure loathing on the black-haired wizard's face. Tempted though he was to ask Potter if he wished to serve additional detentions on Friday evenings as well for his insolent glares, he resisted; Snape was damned if he was going to give up all of his free time to teach The-Boy-Who-Thought-He-Knew-It-All a lesson. He did, however, remind Potter to be at his office at ten sharp to serve his first of many detentions. It looked as if Potter was about to retaliate with a smart comment, but a sharp nudge to his ribs from Weasley made him rethink that course of action.

It was evident that many of his fellow Gryffindors were highly upset at their captain being banned from future Quidditch games. Only Weasley sat with him at one end of the Gryffindors' usual table, many of the other students scattered about and sending brief looks of disgust in their direction, although the glares were only meant for one.

Even though Snape was across the room, he noticed the words "I hate him" being formed on Potter's lips.

_My heart bleeds, too, Potter._

* * *

Being stuck in the hospital wing was torture for Hermione. She would have thought that Ron and Harry would visit her, even if there was a Quidditch match that Saturday. The cheers as well as the commentator from the Quidditch pitch was loud enough for her to hear in the hospital wing. Not that she cared much for Quidditch, but it would have been nice to sit with her friends instead of staring at the bricked wall of the hospital wing for hours on end. Her only visitor had been Madam Pomfrey, who only came to dispense potions and thankfully allowed Hermione to read.

"Most students are happy to not have their books," Madam Pomfrey had joked lightly. "But here you are, begging me to allow you to do your homework. Oh well, I suppose there's a first for everything."

By nightfall, the lonely hours had driven Hermione to the point of madness. It seemed absurd to expect any visitors by now, but Hermione still held onto a niggle of hope that Snape would visit her. However, when the doors to the hospital wing remained shut, Hermione finally gave up the notion of seeing anyone other than the occasional passing ghost.

Now it was most likely somewhere around midnight, judging by the chimes Hermione had heard not long ago. Madam Pomfrey had already gone off to bed, and Hermione was wide awake, finding herself in need of a new book. The shuffle out of bed had been painful; her legs worked just fine but the effort to breathe was still strenuous, and she had to pause several times to make the short trek across the floor. By the time she'd gotten her book and made it back into bed, she was so worn out that she immediately fell asleep with the still closed book lying next to her head.

* * *

**_tbc...in, a few hours or so? Just editing..._**


	36. Chapter 36

_**A/N: So when I promised the update the other day...the damned notifications went down! I didn't even know folks were reading and reviewing until a friend told me she left a review. But it's just as well, this chapter took on life of its own and it's extra long with a fluffy lemon. So there, you've been warned. **_

_**To those of you still here, thaaank you! Cake and slaps on the butt for all! You folks are lovely, thank you so much. To my new followers, hello! I hope I can entertain you with the ramblings of my mind. **_

_**So I'm having surgery in two weeks exactly. I had to go for pre-surgical testing today...and the NP has the same birthday as...Severus Snape. I told her that and she got a kick out of it. Capricorn high-five! **_

_**Again, thank you for the follows and reviews, they are very much appreciated and keep the Muse happy.**_

* * *

Hermione thrashed slightly in her sleep when she felt something brushing against her face. She made a snuffling noise once before batting away whatever was touching her nose. The tickling sensation stopped, but then something much firmer traced over the curve of her cheek. That fleeting touch was enough to make her eyelids flutter open.

Met with the sight of empty air at the left side of her bed, Hermione found that through her somewhat incoherent state, she was stung with a sense of disappointment. And she was agitated. And that agitation was enough to prevent her from falling right back to sleep.

She didn't know what time it was, but obviously it was late. The screens were still up around her bed, although if they had been taken away it wouldn't have mattered. The hospital wing had only had one student that day, which had been a younger girl from Slytherin who visited the ward, complaining of severe menstrual cramps. Pomfrey had settled the girl in a bed on the opposite side of the room, settling her with a hot water bottle and a potion to ease her discomfort. The young witch only stayed a few hours, falling asleep while the potion and hot water worked its magic. Hermione only noticed this because the room had been quiet enough for her to overhear everything. The girl had been polite when speaking to Madam Pomfrey, saying 'please' and 'thank you', something that would have at one time shocked Hermione, yet she currently knew better. However, if she listened to some of her classmates, they would have her believe that everyone in Slytherin was always rude and tactless, which she knew was not the case as displayed by that student. Besides, plenty of her own housemates had shown their arses, not to mention McLaggen who was consistently in dire need of a serious attitude adjustment.

_It would have been nice if the Head of Slytherin showed face, _Hermione had told herself earlier. The last she had seen of Snape was two days ago, but even those previous occurrences lingered as fuzzy memories. Hermione knew the professor had other things to attend to, that coming to visit her was hardly on his list of priorities. She hadn't even been aware that Malfoy was in the hospital wing until she heard him fussing at Madam Pomfrey yesterday morning, only to hear her telling him an hour later that he could return to his dormitory. With Malfoy gone, Hermione knew that she did not have a chance of seeing Snape; what other reason would he have for visiting the ward?

A sudden familiar sounding throaty growl made Hermione turn her head, bringing her attention to the right side of her bed.

"Crookshanks?" she murmured in a croaky voice when she saw the unmistakable shape of her half-kneazle perched atop her bedside table. "How did you get in here? The doors are shut."

"How else does your familiar get his way?" a deep voice cut through the darkness. "Like always, he whinged and cried and was set on clawing up my door until he was given what he wanted."

Hermione was so shocked to hear Snape's voice that she immediately shot up in bed, instantly regretting the swift moment.

"You're here!" she exclaimed happily through a hiss of pain.

Snape was indeed sitting to her right, stiffly perched on one of the chairs used for visitors. Hermione hadn't any idea why the chair was set next to her in the first place, considering the only person to grace her with their presence was the school matron.

"I am," Snape replied, speculatively looking her over.

Hermione's ebullience at the sight of him was somewhat shocking yet pleasing. It was nice for a change to have someone happy to see him—a person, rather. Crookshanks, in his own fickle way, always seemed pleased to see the professor, if the cat rubbing up against his legs and leaving a trail of ginger fur was any indication. But then again, you never bit the hand that fed you and as far as Snape was concerned, the cat could have been using him as means to get a full belly and a warm place to sleep once he was done eating.

Snape had been sitting at Hermione's bedside for quite some time. Prior to that, he spent his evening prowling through the darkened corridors of Hogwarts. Ever since the fight between Potter and Malfoy, professors had been more vigilant about making sure that students were in their dormitories after hours. With only his errant thoughts for company and his black boots rapidly eating up the length of the flagstones and woven tapestries covering the floors, Snape had finally forced himself to return to his room. He'd kept thinking of Hermione lying alone in a hospital bed, yet it hadn't been enough to make him actually take a walk up to the hospital wing. However, the decision had been made for him when not five minutes after settling down in his study, an insistent scratching was heard at his door.

Crookshanks definitely possessed the temerity of his mistress, who refused to relent whenever she wanted her way, and kept digging his claws into the wood. The cat could have scratched a hole into the damn thing and Snape wouldn't have cared, but the sound was irksome. It had soon become evident that the feline was not going to leave until Snape showed his pallid face. The professor hadn't even bothered with wondering how the animal managed to find him, since the wretched thing seemed to be half-cat, half-kneazle, and entirely sleuthhound.

Swearing as he wrenched open the door and soundly cursed at the animal whom tottered in, bushy tail in the air and in rare form. Crookshanks wasted no time in making his agitation known; he hadn't wanted food, he didn't want to be held or even have that favourite patch behind his ears scratched. He prostrated himself at Snape's boot-covered feet, mewling and yowling in a throaty sound akin to nails on a chalkboard until the wizard lost his temper and went back to his roots, using all manner of curse words that would make even the worse degenerates blush. Snape resorted to brandishing his wand—even though he really wasn't going to use it—when the yowling began making his head throb. Only when he snatched the annoying ball of orange fluff up into one arm and stormed out of his room did the animal fall silent.

"Amazing. You somehow always manage to find me, yet you're unable to walk up a few flights of steps to see your own witch," Snape growled resentfully as he stalked throughout the darkened castle with the animal haphazardly tucked into his side.

Crookshanks had bounded out of Snape's arm soon as they were inside of the hospital wing, immediately sensing which bed Hermione lie in and scampering off in her direction. Snape fully planned on leaving the animal on his own and lingered by the double doors to the wing when the half-kneazle ran back over and sat _on_ his feet, as if he was privy to the wizard's plans of making a hasty escape.

_No, you don't, _Crookshanks' smashed face seemed to silently communicate from the dark floor as he stared up at Snape. _You aren't going anywhere, not until you see her._

"Sodding cat," Snape swore between clenched teeth as he jerked his leg to walk forward. The cat was heavier than he thought but Hermione would kill him if he trod over one inch of his little furry body. it still didn't check his temptation of kicking one foot out to make the cat move that flared momentarily. "Ordered about for most of my natural life by a dotty wizard and a megalomaniac, now I have a creature of an entirely different species making decisions for me."

Satisfied that the professor was following his unspoken directions, Crookshanks finally moved off Snape's feet and began walking back to Hermione's bed, only pausing midway to look back to make sure that he was being followed.

"Go on, you little half-breed miscreant!" Snape hissed when he saw the cat balking at him, as much as a cat could balk. "I'm right here, damnit; I'm not leaving yet."

Apparently Crookshanks believed him, for he continued on and slunk behind the screens surrounding Hermione's bed. When Snape skulked around the screens he found the orange cat sitting placidly next to a sleeping Hermione, soon rising to walk across the top of her pillow and swish his bushy tail in her face.

Hermione had been curled on her side with her back facing Snape. Her face was obscured in the shadows of the darkened area, her messy unfettered contributing to the cause as well. Just able to make the outline of her body beneath the blankets, Snape heard Hermione make a little snuffling noise when Crookshanks' tail veered close to what he guessed was her nose.

Stepping closer to pluck the cat off the bed and set him down on the floor, Snape had been unable to resist running his fingertip across the rounded, downy soft curve of Hermione's cheek. He hadn't meant to wake her up; Snape hadn't even intended on coming to the hospital wing in the first place. After witnessing her becoming injured, the urge to protect her had grown even stronger, conflicting with his better senses telling him to leave her the hell alone.

Watching as Hermione stirred beneath the thick cocoon of blankets, Snape stepped back, halting when his leg almost upset a chair. The witch immediately relaxed and appeared to have fallen back asleep, when he felt some of his resolve disintegrating.

_Why the hell not? _he asked himself of his unspoken question: should he stay, or should he go?

Remaining at Hermione's bedside for a few minutes longer seemed innocuous; after all, she had gone still again and wouldn't even notice that he was next to her.

Only the unexpected happened, and Hermione turned over in bed and opened her eyes. She first noticed her cat who saw fit to balance his round form at the edge of the bedside table. Crookshanks tended to do the same thing on Snape's desk in his study, and more times than he cared to count, the professor had rushed to yank his quills and inkpots out of the path of the half-kneazle's rapidly swishing tail. Not only did the cat enjoy chewing on his favourite quill, but tipping over things with his tail was a cherished pastime. Right before Hermione woke up, Snape had been fervently hoping that the feline had enough sense to not knock over the half-filled glass of water which was precariously close to Hermione's pillow. Not only would it drench her bed, but she would get a face full of liquid as well as a rude awakening.

When Hermione became aware of her familiar's presence, as well as his, the delight was so palpable on her face that it physically pained the professor. She moved much too quickly to sit up in bed, fumbling to free a hand from the bed sheets and reach out in his direction.

"Professor, I...how are you?"

"I should be asking you that," Snape replied, carefully maintaining his distance by staying in his chair. "Obviously still in pain judging by the sound. Lie back down."

The smile on Hermione's face faltered a bit when she immediately picked up on Snape's aloof behaviour, and she drew back her hand, placing it on top of the blankets.

"I am," she admitted, gingerly falling back to her pillow while keeping her eyes on Snape's tense form.

"Did Madam Pomfrey give you anything for the discomfort?"

"Yes, but that was after dinner," Hermione answered groggily. "It put me to sleep for awhile but I suppose it wore off."

Without saying a word, Snape rose from his chair and disappeared from the private enclave of Hermione's screen-covered area. Returning a moment later with a small bottle in his right hand, Snape uncorked it with deft precision and loomed over Hermione.

"Madam Pomfrey gave me something else," Hermione said after glancing at the bottle. "I think it was—"

"I know what she gave you, and this is something different," Snape replied, bringing the bottle to Hermione's mouth.

"What is it, then?" she asked, jerking her head away and tightening her lips.

"A pain reliever laced with something to help you sleep," Snape told her, although it was clear that his patience was beginning to run thin.

"No, thank you."

"Open your mouth, Miss Granger."

"No."

"Last I checked you were eighteen and not eight, unless Pomfrey also gave you a De-Aging Potion."

"I haven't seen you for two days. Actually, I haven't seen _anyone _for the past two days. But now that you're here sleeping is the last thing I feel like doing."

"Damn difficult woman," Snape muttered under his breath, although he did place the cork stopper back in the bottle and set the potion on the bedside table.

_That was easy, _Hermione thought as she watched Snape resituate himself in the chair opposite her bed. Arranging his teaching robes with a flourish so as to not sit on them, the professor then folded his hands and placed them in his lap.

"Why are you being so thickheaded, little girl?" he smoothly inquired.

"I am _not_ being thickheaded," Hermione protested, turning onto her side so she could continue looking at Snape. "But like I said, I've been here for two days and things are still a bit hazy. Madam Pomfrey won't tell me anything, well, anything useful, that is. So if you don't mind answering my question—"

"_Question_; singular, as in one? Bollocks. You are physically unable to merely ask _one _question; the whole of Great Britain would fall."

"Goodness—alright! A _few_ questions, then."

Levelly eyeing her for a moment as if Hermione's question was difficult, Snape finally answered. "You are in the hospital wing because your lungs were nearly condensed into the size of a doxy's. Next?"

Clearly she hadn't been expecting that, and the horror was nearly palpable on Hermione's face that she literally had to force her gaped open mouth shut. "What?! Why does Malfoy know a spell like that? Even I've never come across something that sick, and I've already found the most _gruesome _spells in the Restricted Section—"

Not even the smallest flicker of surprise showed on Snape's face, and Hermione took that to mean that he already knew about her trips to the Restricted Section. Although there wasn't much he could say, seeing as she had gotten a note from Professor McGonagall giving her permission that go around. Yet she was not expecting Snape to move his chair closer to her bed and linger over her, the distance between them so short that despite the barely lit corner they were both sitting in, Hermione could count every wisp of black hair that had fallen over Snape's brow.

"You are so sure that Mister Malfoy was the one who hexed you," said Snape softly. "How do you know it wasn't Potter?"

Hermione's mouth went dry and she swallowed hard, her anger diffused by the unreadable look on Snape's face. It wasn't likely that he would ever stop blaming Harry for the most arbitrary things going awry, which was something that she was used to even though it continued to bother her. But the way he was looking at her now... Was she in trouble?

"It couldn't have been Harry because I was trying to stop him from hexing Draco," she explained a bit sheepishly, even though her heart had begun to speed up. "I stepped in between them and next thing I know, I'm on the floor feeling as if an elephant stomped on my chest."

"Granger, why the devil would you step in between two idiots brandishing their wands at one another?" Snape spat, losing most of his cool resolve. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Why are you getting cross with me!?" Hermione asked, sounding completely bewildered. "It's not like I knew they were fighting! I mean, I _knew_ they were together in the bathroom, but I hadn't expected an all out wand fight!"

_Why am I cross with you? Because for a split second I thought you were dead, you little fool, and that I would be sent off to Azkaban for murdering a student if that fucking Unbreakable Vow hadn't killed me first_.

"You know, for someone who hates anyone hovering over him, you sure don't mind hovering over anyone else," Hermione was now saying even though she remained steadfast in place with Snape huffing at her, his anger looming between them as he practically shared the narrow mattress of her bed.

_Not everyone, _Snape thought, some of the hygienically-challenged boys in his House immediately coming to mind."Is that right?"

"So it seems. OK, so besides the idiotic notion of trying to keep my best friend from being expelled for fighting, what else happened?" Hermione pressed, refusing to let up until everything she wanted to know was explained.

"Funny you should ask," Snape replied wryly, even though it was apparent he found nothing funny about Hermione's question or its answer. He moved away from Hermione and straightened up in the chair although clearly he was still irritated. "After you were hexed, Potter retaliated with a spell that he shouldn't know, that no student should know. Even more interesting is where Potter learned about this spell."

When Snape paused, Hermione waved a hand, waiting for him to continue. "Is there a punch line, or..."

The look he gave her almost cut to the bone. "You've never played stupid in the past, please don't waste my time or insult my or your intelligence by doing so now. Perhaps I should rephrase my statement: when was the last time you saw Potter willingly reading a book that had nothing to do with Quidditch?"

Hermione's instantly widened brown eyes were affirmation enough of what Snape immediately suspected upon first walking into the bathroom and seeing a bloodied and trembling Draco with multiple gashes across his face and chest. Snape returned her shock with a wry look of his own.

"So Harry used a spell that he shouldn't have," Hermione said, trying to hide the fact that Snape someone knew about Harry's Potions book, even though he hadn't outright said so. "You still didn't tell me what happened."

"I found Draco lying in a pool of his own blood, to answer your ten-thousandth question," Snape informed dryly. "Would you like a detailed description of the cuts marring his face, or will the mental image you've undoubtedly conjured up suffice?"

"Professor, I know you don't care much for Harry," she continued, going through extreme measures to carefully choose her words, knowing that Snape's already shortened fuse became whisper-thin at the mere mention of Harry Potter, "but is there a chance that you're exaggerating? Maybe it's not as bad as you make it sound..."

"Granger, now you are being deliberately obtuse," Snape told her bluntly. "But seeing as you were unconscious for nearly the entire time and obviously suffered a slight loss of oxygen to your overworked brain, I suppose it's only to be expected."

A frosty glint seeped into Hermione's eyes.

"You know, you really are a—"

"A bastard?" Snape supplied, unable to resist goading the witch who was easily riled only when it came to those closest to her.

"I was going to say a real force to reckon with," Hermione snapped. She had grown hot under the collar as well as beneath the blankets and flung them off her legs, roughly kicking them down to the edge of the bed as if they were irritating her instead of Snape. "I'm not so far gone as to forget my manners and call you..._that._"

"Not yet, but I guarantee that one day you will forget those 'manners' and call me worse."

"I don't think there's anything you could do that would make me call you a bastard," Hermione scoffed, shoving a stray curl out of her face.

Snape gave a crooked smile. "Usually I would accept that as a challenge and an open invitation just to make you do what you swear you wouldn't. But as I recall, you have once before. And you didn't just call me a bastard, you referred to me as a 'right bastard'."

"For Christ's sake, I swear, you would outlive God trying to have the last word," Hermione chided, blushing to the roots of her hair when she remembered exactly which incident Snape was referring to, which now seemed ages ago. In her defence, the man had been perfectly horrid to her when she was only trying to help, yet that didn't stop her from feeling a pang of mortification for allowing the professor to bend her out of shape. Trying to hide her face, Hermione twisted round to fix the pillow behind her and gasped at the renewed ache in her chest.

"Try?" Snape intoned, leaning over to prop up her fallen pillow. "I wouldn't try; I'd just do. Now will you take the damned potion? What's the sense in you huffing in pain every other minute?"

"I'm fine!"

"Pardon me; it slipped my mind that I'm sitting next to the consummate Gryffindor martyr. You're in need of a few props; shall I magick a cross and a blazon with your House's emblem?"

"I'm going to act like that I didn't hear that," Hermione said dismissively. Her eyes widened again as another thought crossed her mind. "We're the only ones in here...if Draco was badly injured like you say, then where is he now?"

"In the dormitories."

"And Harry?"

"Back on Privet Drive with that horrid Muggle family of his."

Hermione did not take that statement well at all, and flinched so sharply that it caused her to nearly fall out of bed. Instantly her blood ran cold, and she couldn't help but feeling as though she was partly responsible fault for Harry being kicked out of school.

"But that's not fair!" Hermione yelped, her outcry stifled as more pain lanced throughout her body. "How is it that Draco can hex _and _nearly kill me and he gets sent back to the dormitory, while Harry gets expelled?!"

Snape lied about Harry being expelled purely out of spite; part of him wished that the bothersome young man was indeed far away from him. However, he'd nearly forgotten that when faced with what the girl before him perceived to be a great injustice, out of the window went her manners and bashful ways, and a fiery temperamental not to mention razor-sharp tongue took its place. Even her bookishness and punctilious ways for following the rules had no place in Hermione's world when _she _deemed it justifiable.

Waiting to see just how far Hermione was going to take her ranting and raving, and curious as to if she was going to call him out of his given name, Snape finally put an end to her verbal and interminable discontent by a simple, uttered "Enough!"

"No! It's not enough, and I'm nowhere near being finished!" Hermione carped, accusation written all over her face. "You don't know what it's like for Harry; he would have nearly starved had Ron and I not sent him food parcels over the summer hols. He was ready to stay in that filthy house with Sirius so long as it meant getting away from the Dursleys. Now what is he going to do?"

At the mention of Potter going hungry, Snape had a flashback of himself as a child at home during the summer holidays, which always coincided with him going hungry. There was always just enough food, and rare was the time he could remember going to bed with a belly fit to bursting.

Although Hermione was so worked up that she never noticed the way Snape's features seemed to freeze for a minute. It was her rambling that managed to bring him back to the present. Ill-fitting pajamas and her hair a complete mess, Hermione was still attractive to Snape, even if her roaring and that unmanageable mane of hers was worthy of the Gryffindor symbol. She had sunk her teeth in and launched into a full diatribe with no intent of stopping. Snape's first reaction at getting yelled at was to bristle, but he changed his mind, thinking it best to get everything out in the open and find out how Hermione truly felt.

"It's not fair, Professor, and you know it!" she continued, sounding upset and full of indignation as if she was the one that had been expelled and sent back to live with cruel family members.

"And what high flier told you life was fair?" Snape asked evenly. "If they did and you believed it, then I have a bridge for sale that you might be interested in."

"I'm going to talk to Dumbledore; he can't just sack Harry. It wasn't his fault," Hermione announced, shifting to swing her feet over the edge of the bed. "Maybe if I explain what happened—"

"Miss Granger, you have exactly three seconds to take your feet off the floor and place them back on the bed where they belong," Snape told her, sounding as if he himself was three seconds from physically moving Hermione's feet if needed.

"Unless you're going to bind me to the bed, I see no reason to stay here," Hermione challenged, although she remained in a sitting position with her toes grazing the floor.

"I'm not above binding you to that bed, you little bint, so don't tempt me," Snape threatened. "Anyway you will only be wasting your time dragging yourself across the castle as the headmaster is away."

"Then I'll owl him."

"No, you will not."

Crossing her legs and arms, Hermione stared defiantly across at Snape. She huffed and puffed like a bull being taunted with a red cape, and the sight of the fiery little witch amused him to no end.

"You know, I have to give it to you: you are a far more faithful friend than I would have ever believed," Snape commented in a voice free of judgment. "More loyal than the little pissant deserves. But have no fear, Miss Granger. Your _friend _has not been expelled; no doubt he's in Gryffindor tower, cursing the day I was born. I assigned Potter detention for every Saturday until the end of term; he was highly displeased at having to miss Quidditch."

Hermione couldn't care either way about Harry missing Quidditch, but her mouth fell open as she felt her anger and worry fizzle away. "Are you joshing me?"

"Maybe."

"Not about Quidditch, it really makes me no difference. But do you mean to tell me that Harry's been here this whole time?"

"Assuming he hasn't run off to break even more rules, then yes."

"I can't believe you would make up something like that! That was just plain mean; why would you say such a thing?" Hermione fussed, pulling a face.

"I never claimed to be a nice man. My lips would most likely catch fire for even uttering such a bold-faced lie."

"You aren't _that_ bad..." she now mumbled, looking down to pick at her pyjamas.

"If you insist," Snape drawled. "But I know what I am and I have to live with it. That does make things easier."

Hermione looked up and frowned, unable to decipher that sentence. She noticed that Snape said he _had _to live with himself, as if he had been forced to and never given the choice, instead of just saying that he did live with himself.

"If you're trying to addle my brains, then I should point out that you're doing a perfect job," Hermione admitted wistfully. "But I'm still mad at you for lying about Harry being expelled."

"I find you...confounding as well," Snape replied genuinely, even though it was as if he felt discomfited by saying so. "And you are well within your right to be upset.

That first bald admission shocked Hermione. Snape was only direct when it came to few matters, many of which never involved the workings of his complex mind. Hermione had always heard from her mum that men were simple creatures; clearly she had never met Severus Snape. But he hadn't seemed all that complicated at certain times. Besides the spying, the lying, and dealing with the aftermath of his double life, when things died down, it seemed like all Snape wanted was some peace and quiet, and a meal. Maybe a cup of tea. Hermione had been able to supply at least two out of the three on most days whenever she spent time with the professor. Even at Grimmauld Place, Harry and Ron attempted to keep their noise down to a dull roar, not wanting to feel the wizard's wrath had he been disturbed.

Then again, there were other times that made Hermione wonder if Snape yearned for more than the basic necessities one needed to survive. Even she hadn't noticed up until now that she would have liked some sort of steady companionship, one that ran deeper than someone begging her to help with their homework. She definitely didn't _need _a boyfriend like Parvati Patil claimed—that idea was just preposterous.

"What do you find so..._confounding _about me?" Hermione broke out of her reverie to ask, testing her luck to see if Snape cared to elaborate.

"You don't need to know what or why I find you confounding, just know that I do," he replied stiffly. "I don't believe that I'm saying this, but you already know too much for your own good. Too much knowledge is not always beneficial."

"Now that sounds counterintuitive. But I don't see how I confuse you; I'm more of an open book while you're a bloody labyrinth. Just when I think I have you figured out, you do something else to surprise the wits out of me."

Snape raised one eyebrow, the only indication that he was piqued by Hermione's words.

"Really?"

"Yes. It's almost like you're, I don't know, hiding? But you don't have to hide, not from me. There isn't anything you could say or do that would make me see you in a negative light."

"A gentleman allows a lady to maintain her illusions. I, however, am no gentleman but I can guarantee that there are things about me which would annihilate this little romanticised version you seem to hold about me and frighten you so badly it would straighten that outbreak you call curls on top of your head."

Hermione shook her head; was Snape being serious? He had already literally bared himself to her; she saw the Dark Mark embedded in his left forearm as well as the myriad of scars marring his flesh. Hermione wasn't naive enough to believe that Snape had never involved himself in things that would land him in Azkaban or worse; no one received a Dark Mark while simultaneously keeping a clean slate. How else would he have proved himself?

Snape then moved from his chair to shift closer to Hermione, urging her to the center of the bed and drawing the blankets over her. Apparently this was his way of ending their conversation, and Hermione found herself becoming angry again.

"So is that it?" she asked tartly. "This is your way of telling me to stop asking questions and go to bed like a good little girl?"

"Precisely," Snape answered, bringing the sheet up to her chin. "And naughty little girls get a thrashing when they don't listen, so you mind your tongue."

Transfixed by the sight of the professor hovering over her, Hermione was unable to protest when he began tucking the blankets around her. Snape's face was unreadable although the lines of stress in his forehead and around his mouth seemed more prominent, and that was enough to make Hermione forget her anger for a moment and lie docilely when he began arranging her pillow.

"Must you go?"

"Yes. I hadn't intended on coming here in the first place, and I definitely have no intention of getting into this conversation with you."

"Yet here you are, and at this late hour, no less. Face it: you _wanted _to see me."

That remark made him pause."Lippy chit, you really are too bloody smart," Snape growled, sneering down at Hermione. "_Your cat_ refused to let up until I physically carried him here, moaning and crying as if he was helpless without his mummy. Damned thing jumped out of my arm soon as I got through the door and yet was smart enough to go silent as a church mouse."

"So? You could have gone soon as Crookshanks ran to my bed."

"Perhaps, until the shifty little shit literally walked over and sat on my feet."

"Come on, Severus," Hermione laughed. "We both know that if you really, really wanted to, you would have just shoved him off and kept going."

The more she spoke, the further detached Severus seemed to become until it was as if he was a million miles away. Only when she loosened one arm from the blankets and grab onto his hand did the professor look down at her, a slight frown marring his gaunt features when he found Hermione staring longingly up at him.

Hermione's steady brown eyes clearly spoke of her intent, and Snape felt foolish, as if the tables had been turned; Hermione being his elder and him the less experienced one. Conflicting sensations rose within him, to the point that Snape felt disoriented and out of control. The feelings, which weren't wholly bad, had been steadily growing strong for so long that it was pointless to deny their existence.

In a roundabout and unspoken way, Hermione had accepted Snape's flaws and misdoings—the few less offensive ones that she did know about—from the beginning. He hadn't been lying when he told Hermione that she went about with a glamourised version of him. Oftentimes Snape remembered that the optimistic Gryffindor had a soft spot, even for those who were undeserving of her sweetness. How many times had he sat alone in his cold, empty dungeons with only a book for company, wondering the smokescreen came down and revealed his true self, how long Hermione was going to stick around for?

_... But you don't have to hide, not from me. There isn't anything you could say or do that would make me see you in a negative light._

Such a blindly optimistic, utterly Utopian yet undeniably generous comment. Of course, Snape knew to not take those words to heart. If he were to believe it and fail in the end, it would destroy him.

Yet it still wasn't enough to make him break the facade that Hermione so desperately clung to.

Speaking of clinging, Hermione had shoved her hand up into his sleeve, tugging on his wrist and trying to make him sit next to her on the tiny bed.

"Severus?" she called softly. "What's the matter?"

"You need to rest," he answered, trying to disentangle his hand from Hermione's. "I'll keep your evil cat until you go back to your dormitory."

"What? No, wait!" she cried, almost falling out of bed when Snape finally prised his hand loose and began walking away.

This time Snape refused to stop and continued walking until he was nearly at the double doors of the hospital wing. Hermione leapt out of bed and her bare feet slapped on the floor as she ran behind him, doing a horrible job of hiding her gasps of pain.

"You are so lucky I don't have my wand," she panted as she clutched onto a handful of his robes at his back, "else I'd lock the damn door."

Snape didn't bother with masking his sarcasm nor did he try to make her let go of his robes. "Your spells are no match for mine, witch," he told Hermione, smirking at her while placing one hand on the door handle. "They come close, just not close enough."

"Yes, all right. Tell me something I don't know," Hermione said brusquely."But why are you leaving; have I put my foot in my mouth again?" That question made Snape turn away and her hand fell away from his back. Hermione was unable to see it, but his fingers had tightened around the curved handle.

_Because if I don't end this now, it's not likely that I ever will._

"Because you need to have your arse in bed, that's why," he finally told her, his attention still on the door.

"Just my arse? What about the rest of me, is it free to hang about in the air of the hospital wing?"

That cheeky comment made him turn back around and deliver a slight slap to Hermione's backside, which happened so swiftly she never saw it coming.

"Severus!" she yelped, reaching back to grab the tingling area. "How would you like it if I slapped your bum?"

"You aren't fast enough," Snape pointed out, sliding both hands into the front pockets of his frock coat. "Although you are more than welcome to try, when you can breathe properly, that is."

Still able to feel the heat of his palm against her flesh through the thin and oversized cotton pyjamas, Hermione began wishing that Snape had left his hand on her. Now he was looking down at her as if he knew what she was thinking.

"Don't even try it, Granger."

"You don't even know what I'm thinking! Oh wait, you might."

"Don't I? I'm always three steps ahead of you, my little know-it-all. I won't even delude you by trying to convince you otherwise."

"Hmph. Might I have a kiss before you leave me again?" Hermione asked, moving closer to Snape until there was a fraction of space between them.

Either she was learning to catch up or Snape was allowing her to think that she was. Whichever the case, he said nothing as he slid one arm around Hermione's waist and lowered his head to hers. Making sure to not grip her too tightly, he brushed his lips against Hermione's before fully engaging her in a kiss.

Becoming completely absorbed by the thin, gentle lips rubbing against hers, which sometimes paused to lightly suck on her bottom lip, Hermione didn't realise that she had slipped both arms around Snape's neck and was practically dangling from him in an effort to keep him close.

"Get back into bed before your toes fall off," he murmured in her ear while trying to move out of her clutches.

That made Hermione laugh, and she freed one hand from his neck and playfully returned the slap on his bum from earlier. It wasn't likely that he felt much, considering that his body was completely covered in woolen trousers, a long frock coat and teaching robes.

"Don't leave yet; please?" Hermione pleaded, finding it hard to let go especially since Snape had stopped trying to move her other arm from his neck, slipping one hand beneath her pyjama top to stroke the small of her back.

Exhaling quietly in defeat, Snape pressed a kiss to Hermione's forehead. In a fumbling effort of limbs and legs bumping against one another, the two walked backwards until they were at her bed. Snape then sat at the foot amid the rumpled blankets and tugged the witch down onto his knee.

"Why are you so intent on keeping me nearby?" Snape asked as if he truly could not understand Hermione's inclination towards him. His mouth lingered near her right ear and his words almost became lost to the nest of curls threatening to swallow the side of his face.

"Why do you think?" Hermione murmured, twisting around to brush her lips against the underside of his jaw. "I miss you when I'm not with you. I miss you even when we're together, which makes absolutely no sense to me."

Wordlessly taking in the unblemished sentiment, he allowed Hermione to continue plying him warm, soft open-mouthed kisses. She actually huffed in annoyance when his cravat remained in place, impenetrable to her impatient fingers.

Snape shifted Hermione off his knee and onto the bed, pushing her shoulder until her back met with the pillow and flannel blankets. Difficult though she was, as her arms remained cinch around his neck.

"Hermione, let go."

"No."

"That was not a request, you little delinquent, that was an instruction."

Hermione was incorrigible and didn't bother with trying to hide the smirk on her face. She maintained her grip around Snape's neck, keeping his face right above her. All she had to do was lift her head slightly and their noses would be touching.

"Are you trying to break my back?" asked Snape. His entire torso was shifted in a way that looked uncomfortable, purely due to Hermione's hold round his neck, while his feet were still planted on the floor.

"No, sorry," Hermione apologised, slightly loosening her hold. "But if you sit properly then maybe it won't feel that way."

To further emphasise her point, Hermione let go and slid up higher on the bed. In an effort to keep him from trying to leave again, she placed one foot behind Snape's back and the other in his lap, and began slowly unfastening the small white buttons lining the front of her pyjamas.

Snape was about to move Hermione's feet and stand up when he became fixated by the sight of her body becoming exposed. He had to remind himself that there was still some unwritten law about shagging one of his students, and another about doing so in a bed of the hospital wing.

"Don't, Hermione," he said in a somewhat pained voice.

"You don't want to?" she asked confusedly, her hands pausing at the button near her navel.

Snape's face contorted as if Hermione had just mentioned something completely ludicrous. Ever since she barged in on him in his dismal little room at Grimmauld Place, he yearned for her, and not only because of the warm, tight place between her legs. Although a certain part of his body reacted quite strongly to the sight of her disrobing, making him feel foolish for swiftly gaining an uncomfortable erection from a mere glimpse of Hermione's bare skin. Her breasts hadn't even showed as the pyjama top was still concealing her, displaying only a small patch of flesh between the gap of the unbuttoned plaquets.

With his eyes riveted on hers, Snape slowly twisted round until his right knee was between Hermione's legs. Advancing on the witch until he was kneeling over her, Snape took her hand and pressed it to the front of his trousers.

"Does this feel like I don't want to?"

Even though Severus was kneeling upright before her and straddling her thigh, the room had become so dark that he appeared to be nothing more than a silhouette. If not for the fact that her hand was now squeezing and tracing along the hardened length pressing firmly against the confines of his trousers, Hermione might not have believed that he actually was in front of her.

The last time they were intimate had been on Snape's birthday. Besides everything that transpired between January and now, the most they shared was a few kisses which had been stolen on the Astronomy Tower or in Snape's private laboratory. Hermione hadn't been able to experience the familiar comforts of his bed, as the last time they slept together, literally doing nothing but sleeping, it had taken place on a sofa in his sitting room that had been mildly comfortable only after transfiguring.

"No, _this _doesn't," Hermione intoned, now half-reclined on one bent elbow and cupping her palm over his wool-covered shaft, "but knowing how your mind works you're likely to tell me that you don't want to anyway."

"I may be many things, but I do try to not make a liar out of myself whenever possible," Snape told her, reaching down to run the back of his fingers against her cheek. Hermione immediately reacted by turning her face into his touch, moaning softly when he opened his hand and curved his palm over her cheek.

"Didn't you just lie about Harry being expelled?"

"Don't mention that damned boy's name right now. And stop trying to figure me out; besides giving yourself an aneurysm, you might find things that you would undoubtedly regret."

Hermione's hand still lingered over his erection, her touch faltering slightly when she became completely absorbed by the unsteady yet gentle fingers caressing her cheek. It really had been too long since she touched him in this manner. Apparently Snape must have felt the same way, for when Hermione realised that her hand had grown still, she resumed gripping his length with more fervour, and he responded by pushing his hips forward, his body language letting her know that she should continue.

It still didn't matter that Hermione was unable to see the professor's face; sliding her hand up until the unmistakable feel of the engorged head was beneath her fingertips, she gave a light squeeze which cause the wizard to groan aloud into the darkness. That short sound contained a wealth of longing and pent-up lust, and was enough to set her centre throbbing.

It didn't take Occlumency for Snape to know that Hermione was slowly becoming aroused; her grip on his knob was increasing as was the sound of her heavy breathing. She was actually wriggling against the bedsheets, most likely trying to quell the ache between her legs.

"You may as well take these off," she finally said when Snape groaned a second time from one of her delicate squeezes.

"Little inveigler; I didn't come up here to romp around in bed with you," Snape chastised, although he pushed Hermione's hand away to undo his trousers. "You don't need sex: you need sleep and a chance to heal. You can't even breathe properly without gasping in pain."

"Please?"

A rustle of fabric soon betrayed the sound of Snape shoving his trousers and pants down his legs. Hermione figured that he was going to leave them on, as he didn't move from the bed to completely remove them. Snape did, however, nudge her to lie flat and shift on the narrow mattress to allow enough space for him to remove her knickers and pyjamas bottoms.

"Do I need to cast a Silencing Charm?" he asked quietly, running both hands up the insides of Hermione's splayed and freshly bared thighs.

"No, but a locking spell on the door would be nice," Hermione averred, trying to keep her body from trembling when Snape's fingers came in close contact with the soft curls covering her sex.

"Oh? So we've suddenly decided to become shy, I see."

"Not shy, just cautious."

"Don't give me that rubbish; you're demure right until you're about to come. Then you get to clawing my back to ribbons and bursting my eardrums with your cries."

A sharp gasp of shock rent the air, making Snape chuckle darkly.

"I bet you're blushing right now."

"I am not!"

"Liar," Snape smoothly accused. "Your face is probably glowing like the sun. I can prove it." Letting his hand come down to Hermione's cheek, he indeed felt the warmth of blood pooling to its surface and heating her skin. "And I'm certain that it leads all the way down here." Dragging his fingertips down her throat, across the expanse of skin peeking out from her still partially-unbuttoned pyjama top, Snape paused when he reached her bellybutton. "Indeed it does."

"My, but you're horrid," Hermione whispered, prodding Snape in his back with her foot.

"I never claimed to be otherwise," he replied unremorsefully, hissing when Hermione suddenly reached down and wrapped her fist around his length. Her touch effectively put an end to his taunting, verbal taunts, at least.

Snape unfastened that last button at Hermione's navel and pushed the fabric to the side, baring her soft skin to his gaze. By that time more light filtered into the room from the overhead window, and Hermione was able to see Snape literally drinking in the sight of her. Knees bent with Snape kneeling between them, completely prostrate and naked save for the slivers of fabric now only covering her arms, Hermione couldn't have been more exposed had she placed herself on a table and allowed the wizard to make a meal of her.

He stared at her for a while before actually touching her, and his heated gaze left Hermione trembling. At the first feather-light stroke of his work-roughened fingertips circling one taut nipple, Hermione keened softly as her body reflexively arched up into the caress. All thoughts of why he shouldn't be doing what he was doing, as well as the place of occurrence, were forgotten when Hermione rolled her hips against the bed, clearly wanting his touch to go further south.

Snape might have believed that two months without being intimate with Hermione would have made him want to rush things along. Yes, he felt like some randy adolescent, ready to stick it in and rut until the ache in his balls had dissipated. His erection hadn't slacked off in the least; if anything he was being continuously spurred by Hermione's strong reaction to his hands on her breasts, judging by the way his cock kept bumping into the soft skin of her inner thigh and dampening it with pre-ejaculate. But there was something else that made him want to take his time, to savour this rare moment.

Still prolonging things, Snape ran his hand over the curve of Hermione's hip, down her thigh and beneath the back of her knee. He placed that leg over his shoulder, turning his head to first brush his lips and nose against the area before gracing it with open-mouthed kisses.

Hermione trembled at the heated dampness of his mouth; she hadn't known that the inside of her knee was so tender. Even the feel of Snape's hair brushing against her skin was tantalising, and nearly made her moan.

"Why do you still have that on?" Hermione asked, now noticing that Snape was still clad in his teaching robes and frock coat.

"Does it bother you?" he asked, his lips continuing to tickle the inside of her knee.

"Yes, because I won't be able to properly touch you," she informed.

That little snag was put on a backburner when Snape's other hand brushed over her cleft. Even though the touch had been passing, it was enough to make Hermione quiver with anticipation. She desperately hoped that he wouldn't tease her for long; her entire body already felt as if it were on fire. Thankfully his hand moved from her the curve of her abdomen and back down to her core, where two slim fingers delicately separated her folds while a third nimbly tapped and stroked the hood of her clitoris.

A groan became lost behind teeth that Hermione could not unclench. She dug her hands into the blankets beneath her and twisted so sharply at the contact that her leg fell from Snape's shoulder, nearly trapping his hand between her thighs in the process.

"Too much?"

"Not bloody enough!"

A snort became a short chuckle when Snape completely withdrew his hand, causing Hermione to swear at him. He had become so lost in the feel of her soft, warm skin beneath his hands that he almost forgot about his stiff frock coat and teaching robes. Pausing long enough to remove both items as well as his cravat and wandlessly levitate them to the nearby chair, Snape unbuttoned his white linen shirt but left it on. His trousers were still halfway down his thighs; he didn't think they would be interrupted and hospital wing doors had been locked, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Slipping both hands beneath Hermione's thighs and pulling her towards him, Snape moved over her and supported his weight on his elbows. His erection was nestled between her folds, and he slowly churned his hips against Hermione's, trying to direct the head to slide over her clit. Even though she was aroused, forgoing lengthy foreplay hadn't left her slick like she would be otherwise. Of course, that made no difference to the witch, as her hands were firmly planted on Snape's shoulders, squeezing and massaging while wriggling against him, trying to make him penetrate her.

"I'm trying not to hurt you," he hissed, brushing his lips across hers before nudging the underside of her face with his nose. "Stop rushing me."

"Alright," Hermione moaned breathlessly, stilling her hips although her hands, of their own accord, continued pulling him against her.

This wasn't going to do. Besides remembering the way Hermione cried out in pain and jerked away from him whenever he'd been too hasty in entering her, there was also the issue of her sore chest to contend with.

Snape had meant it when he said that the last thing Hermione needed to be concerned with was sex; the hex Draco cast at her had been nasty, its repercussions not likely to disappear after a mere day or two. Snape didn't want to put his full weight upon her, but Hermione was making that difficult with the way she kept tugging at him.

"Put your hands above your head," he directed, causing her to look up at him curiously.

"Like this?" she asked, folding both arms at the wrists and resting them atop her mound of frizzy curls that was strewn about on the pillow beneath her head.

"Yes. Leave them like so," Snape replied, noticing the way the angle made her breasts rise. Briefly dipping his head to capture one erect nipple between his lips, he repeated the action with the other breast before reaching down to align himself at her entrance.

Hermione followed his instructions to the letter, going so far as resisting the urge to curl her thighs around Snape's legs and directing him to move the way she wanted. Moaning softly when his cock shifted from her opening to glide across her sensitive nub, Hermione reminded herself again to remain compliant. Even though she was frantic with need and the slightest touch from Severus was enough to make her want to thrash about, she kept her body relaxed as much as she was able to while he methodically carried out his ministrations.

Feeling both his fingers and the tip of his cock pressing intimately against her, Hermione now understood why he was moving so slowly. Whenever there was a long interval in between their liaisons, things were always uncomfortable for the first minute or two. Of course, the unbelievable pleasure Hermione experienced afterwards always made her forget about that initial discomfort.

Now Severus was gently prodding and pushing, keeping his thumb and forefinger wrapped around his shaft to control the depth of his excruciatingly slow thrusts. Briefly musing that she could probably time with a stopwatch his careful cadence, Hermione inhaled audibly and dug her fingers into her inner wrist when she felt the burn and stretch of her walls being separated. Her eyes had already been shut, yet Hermione squeezed them tighter when she felt the first flames of familiar and very much missed pleasure flickering its way up her spine.

When it was obvious that she was ready to accept the rest of him, Snape hovered over Hermione and rested his arms alongside hers while keeping up with the effort of not completely crushing her. The young witch's eyes fluttered open for a moment to see his face right above hers. Snape's eyes never left hers as in one cautiously measured fell swoop, he gently slid the rest of the way into her body, causing them both to moan in unison at the intense sensation.

Becoming lost in the little bubble that could be rightfully called their own, as well as the depth of Snape's black eyes that were hidden behind lids at half-mast yet intently peering into her own, Hermione found that she could not focus on anything except for the man above her, inside of her, stimulating the innermost recesses of her body and soul with his languid movements.

It seemed almost blasphemous to ruin this newfound connection with something as banal as screaming or moaning; Hermione didn't even want to utter a single noise, scared that she would ruin everything. But when she felt Snape's hands clasping over hers, weaving his fingers into her own while eagerly covering her mouth with his, she was unable to contain that small satisfied cry.

The sound of a heartbeat filled her ears, though whether it was Snape's or her own, Hermione could not discern. Her breathing became short and choppy as he continued swirling and circling his hips against her. There was something to be said for his less-than-hurried pace; she was literally able to feel everything, able to focus on everything while solely the sensation of him sliding smoothly in and out of her body. On the instroke Severus continuously brushed against a spot that made her tremble, and on the outstroke, another spot that made her want to arch her back and demand that he go faster. The fact that his hands and lips barely left hers gave Hermione another sense of security, which in turn made something wrench inside of her.

Unaware that her body was becoming taut as a bowstring and trembling head to toe, and ignorant to the fact that she was repeatedly murmuring Severus' name, although the words were almost nonsensical-sounding considering the way he'd continued to kiss her, Hermione felt herself climbing higher and higher until she exploded into an release so fierce that it left her breathless. Eyes wide open yet unseeing, her world faded into nothingness as she was completely and utterly consumed.

The sight of Hermione becoming completely unhinged beneath him, her lips parted yet no sound coming from them, combined with the feel of her snug walls pulsating around him left Snape reeling. Even though they were physically joined, for a split second he sensed some sort of shift, a newly discovered intrinsic connection. That thought came to him easily and without warning, and had he not been otherwise distracted, it might have made him leery considering that said sensation was a first for the wizard whom believed that life taught him everything he already knew about himself.

Later on, Snape would wonder how the hell his life had been further turned upside-down by the wisp of a witch. Also he would be thankful that no ghosts had glided through the hospital wing, as the bedsprings beneath them had creaked and protested loudly enough to wake the dead. But for now, his wiry frame trembled with the intensity of a release that nearly knocked him over like a tidal wave, causing him to forcefully spill inside Hermione while trying to remember how to breathe.

Snape and Hermione both felt the loss when he withdrew from her still twitching walls. His arms and legs were shaky and he nearly collapsed atop her chest until remembering why doing so was a bad idea. Letting go of her hands and weakly settling to Hermione's side, Snape found himself reduced to a boneless, well-sated heap. Hermione was also so spent that she didn't bother with moving her arms from over her head; she left them there, too tired to laugh when Snape accidentally bumped the top of his head on her bent elbow.

After a while they finally moved to accommodate one another on the narrow mattress. Snape knew that he could have used his wand to widen the damn thing, but his mind was still so jumbled, not to mention his jelly-like limbs, that he wouldn't have been able to muster the fortitude to do so. It had been Hermione who eventually dug her wand out from beneath her pillow, charming the bed to a larger size after raising her head to see Snape's booted feet dangling over the edge.

Snape grunted some semblance of thanks as he shuffled closer to Hermione, too worn out to do more than lay his arm across her stomach.

There was an unspoken understanding that their shared sensations of fulfillment and total satiation had more to do with a powerful simultaneous climax. Neither spoke on this sudden switch between them that seemed to sweeten things while making them more complicated. For now it was enough to bask in the comfortable afterglow of whatever it was that transpired.

Hermione slithered her way closer to Snape until her head was resting between his shoulder blade and bicep. They were facing one another, his prominent nose close to her forehead. Each time he exhaled, Hermione could feel the dampened wisps of curls at the peak of her forehead being moved. His arm was stretched out behind her, partially buried beneath her mound of curls, and Snape idly twirled a few strands round one finger. Hermione had slipped a hand beneath his shirt, stroking his lower back and tracing her fingertips around the odd-shaped scars she found there.

Snape was so relaxed that Dumbledore and the Dark Lord could have waltzed into the hospital ward, wands drawn and all, and he would have no issue with telling them both to bugger off, that once he finished his nap Dumbledore would be free to sack him for sleeping with a student, and the Dark Lord could finish him off for his cardinal sin of sleeping with a Muggle-born.

Turning over onto his back, Snape felt his the flannel sheets against his bare backside and realised that his trousers were still halfway down his thighs. He would have left them like so except the air was now a bit bracing for his tastes. Hermione wasn't bothered by the chill, or she was too lazy to worry about covering herself with the blanket. Instead, she slid one leg between Snape's once he finished tugging his trousers back up to his hips, completely bypassing the buttons.

"Crookshanks, get down," Hermione mumbled ten minutes later when she felt the cat hop up on the bed and drape himself over her and Snape's intertwined legs.

"At least he stayed away until we were finished," Snape pointed out in a slumberous tone, shaking with silent laughter when Hermione cringed in embarrassment. "Well done, cat."

"Oh no, I hope he didn't hear us."

"Perhaps you mean _watch._"

Hermione gasped as if scandalised by the very thought. "No, don't say that!" she murmured, feeling her face growing hot.

"It's not as if he's going to tell anyone," Snape quipped. "But have no fear, I believe your familiar remained on the other side of the wing whilst we were...engaged."

Crookshanks had in fact been in the throes of a catnap ever since the humans began quarreling. As far as he was concerned, he had done his part in bringing the professor up to see his mistress. The rest was up to them to sort out. His sensitive ears had briefly honed in on the sound of their muffled moans and noisy bed springs, yet it hadn't been interesting enough for him to investigate. A passing spider had alerted him and made him creep out of his corner, and by that time the humans were wrapped round one another, looking as if sleep was seconds away. Preferring the couple's body heat since there was no lit hearth, Crookshanks decided to join them on the bed, forgetting about the spider.

"He used to wait for me in the bathroom at home when I was taking a shower," Hermione began through a yawn, "but anything else, I made him stay outside. It still didn't keep him from sticking a paw beneath the door. Can't have a wee or brush my teeth without seeing little paws."

"Now that is where I draw the line," Snape replied, sitting up in bed and pushing his fingers through his hair. "I refuse to let a cat watch me taking a piss."

"Are you leaving already?" she asked, becoming more alert when Snape shifted.

"Yes, Hermione. It's nearly four in the morning."

It looked as if both Hermione and Crookshanks were pouting; Hermione because she didn't want Snape to leave, and Crookshanks because he was disrupted by the professor moving.

"Well, I suppose that makes sense..." she conceded even though there was a tinge of disappointment colouring her words.

Forgetting that she was dressed in nothing but her unbuttoned pyjama top until Snape unearthed its matching bottoms and her knickers from somewhere beside the bed, Hermione allowed him to slide them back over her legs. He even carefully refastened her top and ordered her beneath the blankets.

"And they call me bossy."

"You are bossy, yet somehow still manage to not follow directions that benefit you," Snape told her. He had just finished redressing and was now perched at Hermione's bedside, ignoring the scowl she was shooting at him.

Just as Hermione opened her mouth to protest, she found it full of a foul-tasting potion, with Snape's thumb and forefinger pinching her lips shut to ensure that she swallowed it all.

"Hey!" she groused once she hurriedly swallowed to rid her tongue of the bitter liquid. "To think you called my bedside manner appalling. Some warning next time, please?"

"What, so you can fight me? I think not," Snape told her, vanishing the empty phial. The last thing he needed was for Madam Pomfrey to come in and find it on the bedside table.

Hermione's vision had already began to grow fuzzy yet she valiantly fought against the lassitude suddenly weighing her down.

"Prof...Severus...I know you said you gave Harry detention..." she murmured, her eyes growing heavier by the minute, "but do you think you can take it easy on him? After all, he was...defending me."

"Bleeding heart Granger," Snape said softly. He had to admit: Hermione did have a point. While he suspected that Potter hexed Malfoy for reasons other than self-defence, he was sure that part of it had to do with defending Hermione, and secretly would not begrudge that nuance. "I'll take it into consideration but I promise nothing."

Hermione sluggishly fumbled around for Snape's hand and brought it up to her face.

"Thank you, Severus," she murmured, fast slipping into a dream-like state while nuzzling her lips against his knuckles. "And thank you for...I didn't know it could be like... that."

Snape knew what Hermione was referring to. However, she was unable to elaborate further as the potion finally took hold made her drop off into a complete state of unconsciousness, causing her head to loll to the side and her hand to fall away from his. She never noticed the bed being transfigured back to its normal size, nor Crookshanks jumping down to await the black-haired wizard who pressed his thin lips against her forehead, leaving her with one final kiss.


	37. Chapter 37

_**A/N: So my hair is still on my head, and I'm assuming no one sent any hexes my way for this horrendously late update. Surgery went well on my wrist and I'm back in a soft splint. But this also means...more regular updates! Yeah and I need to hurry things along so we can get to Deathly Hallows. Did I mention that this fic will be going well past Deathly Hallows? No, well now you know ;) a nice long read for you. Crmediagal, MrsHH, and Snapefan520, bless you for loaning me your eyes. **_

_**Everyone that has been reading and following and reviewing, I cannot tell you enough how much I appreciate your kind words. In case you didn't see, I have a nice long one-shot posted on my profile (yes it's naughty laced with humour) so feel free to enjoy that. If you already read the one-shot, you will notice a bit of unrelated post-shadowing somewhere in this chapter ;) **_

_**I have some new followers, hello! Please feel free to share your thoughts, I don't bite. And if you have a story you want me to check out, PLEASE tell me! I'm home recovering from surgery which means I need to read and write, especially since all of my damn shows are off. **_

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_**Right then, enjoy!**_

* * *

"I don't suppose you've summoned me here tonight to divulge your whereabouts for the past week," Snape commented in a voice leaden with irony, his eyes focused intently on the decrepit hand lying palm down in his.

"You surmise correctly, although I do wish you would not take it personally, Severus," Dumbledore calmly replied.

The headmaster was sitting behind his desk, his smouldered hand resting in Snape's. Ignoring the scoff as well as the dirty look the black-haired wizard shot him, Dumbledore waited for Snape to continue moving his wand up and down the length of his arm.

"Well?"

Snape had nothing to say, and the silence that sprang between them was enough of an answer. With a small hum, Dumbledore took his time rolling down the sleeve of his ice-blue robes.

"Peppermint Toad?" the headmaster then solicitously offered, gesturing to a silver shell-shaped dish on the corner of his desk.

"No, thank you," Snape answered coolly, wondering when the hell Dumbledore was going to get around to the reason for their late-night meeting. "I'm not eleven, Albus. I don't need to be placated with sweets before you tell me what it is you want."

Dumbledore had the nerve to look amused. "I'm not beating around the bush, merely being polite," he told Snape. "Although you never accepted my offer of sweets when you were eleven. Or twelve, or any age for that matter."

Having had enough of the headmaster's idle banter and ready to tell him where he could stick his Peppermint Toads, Snape shifted to rise out of his chair when Dumbledore held up his good hand.

"I'll get right to it, then, so as to not hold you up any longer," the headmaster continued. "How are Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger?"

"Both alive, no thanks to Potter."

"If I'm not mistaken, the entire incident seemed to be accidental."

"Or perhaps coincidental, which is just absurd," Snape spat. "I highly doubt that Potter and Malfoy planned on a rendezvous on the sixth floor. But you seemed to be well informed; perhaps you know better than I do?"

"I am under the impression that neither boy meant to kill one another, even if they are unaware of that fact," Dumbledore stated, a stony look appearing in his blue eyes. "Harry is no murderer, and neither is Draco, for that matter. Draco is more like his father than he realises."

That comment brought Snape up short, and he remained silent for a while. While Snape had always known that Lucius was a pureblood snob to the tenth degree, he always suspected that the elder Malfoy never really warmed up to the idea of cold-blooded murder. Of course, one would never know, not judging by the way Lucius carried on in the presence of the Dark Lord and his followers. To show one hint of betrayal to the cause would mean the end for all of the Malfoys, and while Lucius was self-serving in many ways, the creed of putting his family first was unspoken, purely due to making sure they all remained alive.

Voldemort requested loyalty to his cause first and foremost; family and the like were foreign concepts to him. Perhaps that had been why many of the Death Eaters were unmarried and unattached. Either they had been brainwashed to believe that love and marriage were only for the weak and foolish, or secretly they never wanted anyone they cared about to become hurt by proxy, purely due to them following the Dark Lord.

That worry was not completely unwarranted; Voldemort would use any means necessary to get his point across if he believed that one of his followers were not fully vested in his cause.

Grudgingly, Snape admitted to himself that while Dumbledore was a nagging irritant, he was also correct in one aspect: Draco was, in fact, very much like Lucius. He was no murderer as proven by each of his failed attempts at assassination, even if he had come precariously close a few times.

Potter was no different. Yes, he was headstrong, having inherited his father's temperament, but he definitely had his mother's benevolence and had neither the fortitude nor inclination to try and purposely kill another.

Snape would never admit it; it had been bad enough admitting it to himself, but Dumbledore's argument about Potter being different than how Snape pegged him was perhaps a bit sound. Potter had fled the Potions office after his final and botched Occlumency lesson. Snape had walked in on him snooping in his Pensieve and the anger he felt was nearly enough for him to kill the boy and dump his body over the high castle walls. Once he calmed down long enough to stop blasting jars from the shelves, after realising that he would be the one to personally replace everything, Snape sat dejectedly in the damp, dank room, inhaling the fumes of pickled innards from creatures that lay strewn about in wet, squishy heaps on the floor.

What Potter witnessed hadn't been his single worse memory, but it definitely had been in the top five. If Snape could have Obliviated himself, he would have, as it had been torture to relive over and over the day where James Potter and Sirius Black taunted and embarrassed him in front of a large amount of student body. Being disarmed and hung upside, forced to dangle helplessly like a fish on an invisible hook, had been one of the most horrific and humiliating things Snape endured. Then to have the person he loathed most threatening to leave him bare-arsed for the world to see made things go from bad to worse.

The only thing his peers had been able to focus on was the sight of his dingy, threadbare underpants and skinny legs. No doubt they missed the scars that marred what Snape always believe to be a too-thin, unattractive frame. Some of the scars had come from his father, a few had been self-inflicted, only coming from Snape practicing spells that would have landed him in a heap of trouble had one of his professors learned of his extracurricular activities.

Snape had been self-conscious of his looks ever since he could remember. His hair had always been stringy; his nose too large for his face. No matter how much he ate during the school year, he never seemed to put on any weight, although perhaps it went to his nose and hair as both seemed to keep growing. His body was another matter altogether; Snape made sure to shower whenever he knew he was alone in the lavatory, not wanting anyone to stare at his frail-looking form or the marks that never quite faded.

Snape had made sure to always keep his hair long and parted, which somewhat concealed his nose. His robes covered everything else and that had never been a worry. So to have James Potter magick him into the air and cause his robes to fall over his face, while threatening to remove his underpants, thus neatly exposing his shame for all the world to see, made Snape feel quite justified in wishing harm upon the cocky bastard.

If he were to speak ill of the dead, eyes would be sure to roll and tongues would likely wag. But dead or not, Snape firmly stood by his belief that James Potter had been nothing but an arrogant sod with an overblown ego. However, when Harry learned the truth about his father's behaviour, Snape had not counted on the boy looking as if he was going to be sick, a look of fear and pity clouding his familiar green eyes. Snape hated to be pitied, and he'd hated those damned green eyes looking at him, and that entire day had been too much for his already stretched nerves to handle. Dumbledore said nothing while the professor raged on in his office, spitting and swearing that he would never be dragged into giving Potter private lessons on _anything_, and that if the headmaster was so worried, he could damn well tutor the boy himself.

"Speaking of Harry, he and Mister Weasley told me they have been attempting to see their friend. Yet Madam Pomfrey says that you gave orders to let no one in to see Miss Granger."

"All things considered, are you surprised?" asked Snape, arching an eyebrow. "The girl did nearly lose her life, in case you weren't aware."

"I'm not at all surprised, Severus, but it is apparent that Miss Granger's absence is a bit upsetting. Perhaps I could implore you to bend your rules, just this once?"

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes; the day Dumbledore implored anything would never arrive.

"You don't need to ask me," he replied. "If Miss Granger feels the need to trifle with her little friends, it is no concern of mine."

* * *

But the last thing Hermione wanted was company. She had woken long before Madam Pomfrey made her entrance into the hospital wing to check on her only patient, and lay in bed reminiscing over her shared night with Severus. The entire experience had been breathtaking, for lack of a better word. Memories of him moving smoothly within her with their fingers interlaced, hands palm to palm, kept resurfacing and sending a tingle down her spine. Of course, she now had to shift her thoughts back to less pleasant prospects. She was not looking forward to dealing with the aftermath of everyone knowing about the incident between her, Harry, and Draco.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey greeted thirty minutes later. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better," Hermione answered. "Still sort of annoyed that I have to miss classes."

"One more day, and then I can let you go," Pomfrey told her. "Potter and Weasley are also eager to see you, those two nearly ran me over in the hall to ask about you."

"Ron and Harry?" Hermione echoed. "Where are they?"

"On their way to class, I presume. They were all set to follow behind me, but I was given strict orders that you were to have no visitors unless it was from the headmaster or your Head of House."

That tidbit of information was news to Hermione. "Madam Pomfrey, if you don't mind my asking, who gave those orders?"

"Professor Snape. He didn't explain and I didn't ask why," she answered, before sweeping off in the other direction to fetch Hermione's breakfast.

Hermione had a vague idea why Snape forbade anyone to visit her in the hospital ward. Knowing the professor, he probably blamed Harry for the entire thing, even though it had been Draco that hexed her. Or perhaps he was keeping distance between the three merely to avoid another round of drama. In any event, Hermione didn't mind as the quiet had been a refreshing change. Besides, it would have been hard trying to keep a straight face with Ron and Harry standing next to her, knowing that just hours before she had lain there with Snape, allowing him to take gentle possession of her body. Her pillow still smelled of the professor, that unique, nameless scent which always clung to him embedded deeply in its fibres.

After another day of idling about in the hospital wing, Hermione was finally allowed to return to the Gryffindor dormitory. Classes were already finished for the day, but Hermione went on a mission to find out what she missed during her absence, unable to rest until she saw each of her professors.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted when he saw her climbing through the portrait hole. "Harry and I were trying to see you, but Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let us in."

"Nor would she tell us what happened," added Ginny, who had been sitting next to her brother. "How are you now?"

"I'm alright," Hermione answered, carefully peeking over at Harry. He was seated on the other side of Ginny, apprehensively eyeing Hermione as if she was going to turn the tables and flip on him, blaming him for her getting hurt.

"Well, that's good," Ginny said. "But is _anyone _going to tell me what happened? These two won't speak," she continued, gesturing to the two on either side of her, "and you know I hate being left out. Besides, I know it had to be bad, judging by the way McGonagall ripped Harry a new one."

"Yeah, I've never heard her yell like that before," Ron muttered, only for Harry to shoot him a look of disdain.

"I'll tell, but only if Harry doesn't mind," said Hermione. "But not in here, it's a bit too crowded," she finished in a lower voice.

The four clambered back out through the portrait hole and into the empty corridor. It wasn't quite dinnertime and they had a few minutes before everyone would be coming in their direction.

"So what did you three do now?" Ginny asked once she had settled down onto a stretch of floor, crossing her legs and sitting with her back against the wall. Harry sat next to her while Ron and Hermione leaned against the stone wall.

"Hey, I'm innocent," said Ron, throwing up his hands.

"This time," Hermione told him, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, I got in the middle of a fight between Harry and Malfoy."

Ron did not looked shocked by Hermione's statement, and she knew that he had already been made aware of the situation. However, Ginny hadn't and she impatiently waved a hand for Hermione to continue.

"And I...used a spell against Malfoy after he attacked Hermione," Harry admitted in a quiet voice.

"What spell?" Ginny asked, turning to Harry. "It couldn't have been that bad; the git looked fine to me at breakfast this morning. Surly, even, but he always looks like that."

"It was bad enough," Harry admitted. "But I didn't know what the spell was going to do."

"Harry, what happened?" Ginny asked more earnestly. "Is it really that bad?" The lightness had gone out of her tone, a more serious look now on her face.

"I nearly killed Malfoy is what happened!" Harry spat, nervously rumpling his hair, which was already sticking up and looking as if he had been fussing with it all afternoon. "But he used some hex on Hermione, one that I still don't know what the hell it was; what else was I supposed to do?"

"But Harry, don't you realise that you could have been expelled?" Hermione blurted out, much to Harry's annoyance.

"I know that, Hermione. But what was I going to do, let him attack you again? Or attack me? You passed out in case you've forgotten; I wasn't about to let Malfoy hurt you again."

"You still haven't told me what spell it was you used," Ginny interjected.

"It's called _Sectumsempra; _supposedly it's for enemies. I found it in—"

"That Potions book, am I right?" Hermione cut in, glaring at Harry. "Oh, _Harry,_ I knew that book was going to get you into trouble!"

"Lay off it, Hermione," snapped Harry. "Malfoy had just tried to use the Cruciatus on me before you ran into the bathroom. He was about to use it on you, too, but then I used _Sectumsempra _on him. How was I supposed to know what it did?"

"That's my point, Harry—you _didn't _know and you used it anyway," Hermione told him stubbornly. "That's why I kept trying to warn you about that book."

"Malfoy tried to cast an Unforgivable?" Ron asked, more so speaking to himself.

"Yeah," Harry answered, his anger momentarily diffused by the shock on Ron's face.

"Well, then, that sort of evens things out, I suppose..." Ron trailed off, only for Hermione to look at him as if he'd sprouted an extra head. "What?"

"Ron! How can you say that?" Hermione shouted, completely appalled. "I mean, don't get me wrong... Harry, I'm grateful for you defending me: thank you."

"Are you? Because it doesn't sound like it," Harry bitterly replied.

"_Yes, _I am thankful," Hermione snippily told him, "but all the same, just say things hadn't gone like they did and you really had killed Malfoy. Besides being expelled, his father would...I don't even want to think about it."

"Hermione has a point; the Malfoys are a nasty bunch and I can see them trying to make sure that you got the Dementor's kiss," said Ginny. "And Harry, you know how I feel about following things from strange books, in case I need to remind you of my first year. But, whatever. I'm glad you had something good up your sleeve to use against that arrogant arse."

"Yes, but at what cost?" Hermione pointed out.

"So Harry has detention and has to miss Quidditch—we'll survive. A Quidditch match isn't more important than having your life saved," Ginny adamantly stated, reaching over to firmly grasp Harry's hand while boldly glaring at Hermione.

Just as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, Ron tugged on her sleeve, pulling her in the other direction. They left Harry and Ginny sitting next to one another on the floor in the corridor.

"What the bloody hell was all that about?" Ron asked once he and Hermione were out of the others' earshot. "Why are you going mental? Harry didn't tell Ginny what happened because he didn't want to upset her, but he'd told me everything. He felt horrible about you getting hurt; kept blaming himself."

Even though Hermione was still puffed up with indignation, her face flushed with shame. "It wasn't Harry's fault," she said, heaving a sigh. "I'm the one that jumped between him and Malfoy. But I didn't want him to get into trouble. You know how Professor Snape is; Harry would have been blamed for everything while Malfoy got off scot free."

"Yes, but it was _Harry_ that decided to go snooping behind Malfoy," Ron pointed out. "Still thinks he's a Death Eater. I tried to warn him, but..."

"It went the same way things did when I told Harry that he should stop using that book," Hermione finished. Ron nodded his head. "Is he still using it?"

"Dunno. At least, I don't think so. He got sort of touchy when I asked about it, and between the Slytherins taunting him left and right and everyone else giving him hell for being booted out of Quidditch, I didn't want to bother." Ron then cast Hermione a sidelong glance that spoke volumes.

"I know, I know," she admitted, "I need to stop nagging. But you have no idea how worried I was. When I finally woke up and you nor Harry showed up in the hospital wing, I thought he'd been expelled. I thought it was my fault."

"Snape looked like he wanted to expel Harry, or toss him from the top of the castle," Ron said with a shudder. "And McGonagall... She told him off so thoroughly, it nearly felt like I was standing next to Harry instead of eavesdropping from the classroom."

"This is such a mess," Hermione sighed, burying her face into her hands.

"Well come on, let's get to dinner. No sense in lingering about here."

It was quite clear that Harry was still brassed off with the world, because when Hermione and Ron walked into the Great Hall, they found him sitting far away from their usual spot. It even looked as if he and Ginny were in the middle of some small falling out, because she was deeply engrossed with chatting with Neville, although though she remained seated next to Harry.

By the time dinner was over and everyone had returned to their common rooms, Harry was still not talking to anyone. Ginny refused to cave in to his bad mood and breezily told her friends 'goodnight' before going up to bed. Ron and Lavender had taken to kissing and hugging in one of their usual corners. Hermione had planted herself at a writing desk across the room, feverishly working on a few missed assignments. Putting the last touches on her essay and looking up, she found that she and Harry were the only ones left in the common room.

_So is it going to be like this, then, Hermione? Are you two not going to speak again?_

_Oh, as if it's my fault. __**Harry's **__the one getting all stroppy when he was in the wrong._

_Would you rather him be wrong and strong, or right and have you dead?_

_Well, since you put it that way..._

"Come to yell at me again?" Harry asked wryly, looking up from his book when he saw Hermione standing in front of him, nervously twisting her fingers round.

"No," she reassured, tentatively eyeing her friend. "I came to apologise."

Harry looked so skeptical that Hermione nearly rolled her eyes.

"I mean it," she continued. "After some consideration, it seems that I was overreacting."

"Yeah, just a bit, maybe?"

"Oh yes, go on, keep pouring salt into my wounds."

Harry scowled at Hermione yet gestured for her to take the seat next to him. He had been reading and indulging in a late night snack and she had to move a few sweet wrappers out of her way.

"I thought Malfoy had killed you," Harry began, bypassing all overtures. "And even though I can't stand him, and I know he hates me, but I was glad when Snape walked in when he did."

Harry's usually confident voice now sounded full of remorse, and it was clear that he was suffering from a bout of what Snape would most likely call 'irritating Gryffindor guilt'.

"Harry...you had no idea Malfoy was going to hex me," Hermione gently told him.

"I know, but it still seems like every time I'm around, someone gets hurt. You, Ron, Sirius... Even Dumbledore is sort of unimpressed with me at the moment; I really know how to bugger things up, don't I?"

"And I thought I was hard on myself," Hermione muttered. "Harry, you can't control everything. Unless Trelawney loaned you her 'Inner Eye' then you definitely won't be able to predict when something bad is going to happen. There's no sense in beating yourself up about it."

"Yeah? You should try telling Dumbledore that I can't control everything; he practically laid a guilt trip on me at our last meeting when I told him I still didn't have that memory."

"Well...all I can suggest is for you to keep trying."

"It's not as easy as it seems, Hermione!" Harry snapped. "I've been stalking Slughorn so much after Potions that it's a miracle they haven't slapped a restraining order on me. That man is too bloody fast for someone of his age."

"I know, I know. And stop getting so touchy! I'm on your side." Harry sighed. "So did Dumbledore say what would happen if you're unable to get the memory?"

"Besides pointing out that we would have no reason for our meetings? Not really," Harry replied, frowning.

"You'll get it," Hermione told with a slight air of confidence. "You _have _to get it, so I know you will."

"Yeah, but I think it's going to take a lot more than sheer luck this time."

"Well, it could be worse," Hermione pointed out. "Remember Fluffy? Just be glad Slughorn isn't a vicious, snarling three-headed dog."

"I think dealing with a deadly three-headed dog would be easier than coercing Slughorn," Harry grumbled. "At least Fluffy was fooled by a bit of music. I could deliver the sun and the moon to Slughorn, and he still wouldn't budge."

"Don't forget the stars," said Hermione, standing up and yawning. "I believe in you, Harry. You'll get it. I'm off to bed; 'night."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

* * *

That Saturday morning, Snape was up bright and early, eager to get Potter's first of many detentions over with. Many students thought that the professor enjoyed doling out detentions. While that was not far from the case, Snape usually tended to send the students off with Filch or Pomfrey to tend less savoury tasks. However, he aimed to keep a close eye on Potter, and was not all that thrilled to give up his already severely limited free time. Thus, Snape made sure to make the boy miserable as possible.

Snape was sure that he could see Potter silently mouthing swear words throughout the two hours designated for him to rewrite old punishment records. There was a Quidditch match that day: Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. The Weasley girl had replaced Potter's position as Seeker; the only reason Snape knew about this was because Hooch had droned on in the staff room to the point where even McGonagall forcefully suggested that she be quiet.

When Snape returned to his room, the half-kneazle curled up before the hearth slowly lifted his head, lowering it back down onto his crossed paws and lazily swishing his tail by way of greeting.

Crookshanks had been staying in Snape's room ever since Hermione had gotten hurt. Actually, the animal had been shadowing Snape after practically forcing the wizard to go visit his witch. Snape hadn't invited Crookshanks into the fold, nor did he make him leave; not that he would admit it but he actually looked forward to seeing the annoying ball of fluff at the end of a long day, even if it meant coming across a dead mouse or spider left behind as a 'surprise'. Snape told the cat that he could save all his dead and mangled creatures for his mummy, that he had no use for the half-masticated spiders, not even for Potions ingredients. However, for reasons only known to the cat, Crookshanks went on with leaving a trail of gifts for the wizard. In a fit of devilishness, Snape was nearly tempted to sweep every bit of spider and mouse into a sack and leave it in front of Slughorn's office door, wondering how high the elderly wizard would jump.

With no intention of leaving his chambers for the rest of the day, Snape ordered meals for himself and the half-kneazle, which were consumed in his dimly lit sitting room. The professor had finished most of his dinner and decided to use the remainder of his evening to read before the hearth. Crookshanks decided that Snape's lap was a suitable place for him to lie across, and gracefully insinuated himself between the book and the wizard's torso.

"Fucking cat," Snape muttered, wandlessly levitating the book in front of his face while using the other hand to stroke the purring nuisance in his lap. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be off looking after my mussed-haired girl?"

Crookshanks let out a throaty meow and wriggled around until he was lying belly up. Snape ignored the tome floating a few inches away from his face and focused on the ginger half-kneazle in his lap, running a large, slender hand over the cat's head and then tickling him beneath his bushy chin.

"Why don't you bugger off, cat, I'm trying to read," Snape reprimanded, even as he continued stroking a languidly blinking Crookshanks' head. "Selfish thing, cutting into the leisure time that I barely have as it is, all because you want someone to pet you."

Crookshanks was oblivious to Snape's empty complaints. Even though he wasn't human, he sensed that the professor was all bluster and no bite, especially after considering the way Snape continuing gently running his long fingers through the hair on top of his squashed head.

Snape hadn't been aware, but the harsh lines of stress that forever marred his face had somewhat softened as he stroked the cat, who soaked up every bit of the attention foisted upon him. Reading was soon forgotten, and both Snape and Crookshanks fell asleep in the armchair, Crookshanks purring contentedly and Snape snoring from his head being titled in an awkward angle.

The two slept for a few hours. A thin line of spittle had formed and threatened to fall from the slackened corner of Snape's mouth, when suddenly Crookshanks darted from his lap and caused the wizard to startle out of his sleep. Snarling and wiping his face with the back of his hand, Snape moved from the comfort of his armchair when it became obvious that the half-kneazle wanted him to get up.

Silently, Snape yanked open the door to his suite. Crookshanks stepped away from the threshold as if waiting, also not making a sound. When enough time had passed, Snape shut and rebolted his door, and walked into the middle of his room. Crookshanks already knew what was going on and had more interest in resuming his nap, and tottered off the sit in front of the slow-flickering fire.

"Well?" Snape stated expectedly, seemingly to thin air. There was a slight shimmer of magic as Hermione slowly appeared from beneath the voluminous folks of Potter's Invisibility Cloak. "Damn it, witch, will you ever stop popping up at random?"

"I wanted to thank you for not torturing Harry in detention this morning," Hermione began, moving closer to the frowning wizard, "and...to see if you'd allow me to raid your book collection."

"Oh, is that all?" Snape asked, sardonically. "Perhaps blood from a stone, next? Or Merlin's long lost wand?"

"And to kiss you..." Hermione trailed off, tugging on Snape's arms which had been folded at the small of his back. He readily acquiesced to Hermione's wishes and slid both arms around her waist, drawing her close until she was crushed against his chest.

Hermione then got what she wanted; Snape cupped her face between both hands and brushed his lips against hers before engaging her in a slow yet thorough kiss that made her knees weak.

_Oh gods, but he's gotten good at this, _Hermione thought, impatiently pressing herself harder against the wizard.

Her enjoyment was short-lived, however, when Snape quickly bussed her lips before gently disentangling from her firm grip on his frock coat. He chuckled when she actually let out a small growl.

"You know where that's going to lead, and I'm stopping it now," Snape told her. "Didn't you sneak down here to ferret through my books?"

"I already told you, that was _one _reason," said Hermione huffily, following Snape as he walked further into his sitting room. Her lips still tingled from their kiss and she felt irritated at being made to stop. "Does that mean you'll let me?"

Snape paused in front of his desk, leaning his bony hip against its edge while thoughtfully eyeing the witch across from him.

"Whatever it is you're searching for, I don't want to know. However, you are more than welcome to peruse my library so long as you understand that everything cannot be found between the pages of a book. And if I know you, you are searching for the unattainable."

"I think you might be right," Hermione murmured, her eyes darting between Snape and his bookshelf. "May I?"

With a short nod, Snape stepped aside and allowed Hermione to pass him. The witch let out an audible gasp as her greedy eyes took in the sight of his books, and he knew her palms were most likely itching to pull everything down. After making sure that his desk was cleared of any other students' work, Snape flicked a finger at the cold candles surrounding the work corner of his study and they simultaneously flared to life, giving the area a soft orange glow.

"Sit," he ordered, pulling back the chair at his desk. "Just make sure your bloody cat stays away from my books."

Crookshanks had been curled up before the hearth and turned his head in Snape and Hermione's direction, as if aware that he was being talked about. Hermione briefly glanced over at her familiar and gave a small laugh.

"Alright," she answered, already reaching for one of the leather bound tomes.

Snape settled back into his armchair, reopening the book that he'd been attempting to read before Crookshanks jumped into his lap and demanded his undivided attention. Focusing on the printed word before him proved futile; it was difficult to pay attention when he had the source of his mental discord only a few metres away from him. Hermione was so deeply engrossed into his books that she never noticed the furtive glances Snape sent her way from behind his own book.

Hermione had hunched over in his chair, reading with such enthusiasm that it made Snape wonder if she was about to lick each page. He was sure that the witch had never come across any of those books; none of them were in Hogwarts' library and with good reason: many were so full of Dark magic and so advanced that many of the other professors would have been put off. Only Hermione had a never-satisfied thirst for knowledge, and even though it was clear that the reading material made her a bit distressed, judging by the look of horror on her face, she continued turning pages.

_Are you surprised? If you were unable to scare her off what makes you think a book will do so?_

Abandoning his pretence of reading, Snape stuck his book in between his thigh and the right arm of his chair. The sound of Hermione turning pages was rather soothing, and Snape closed his eyes although he had no intention of falling asleep.

While his mind hadn't been willing to sleep, his body certainly was, and it wasn't until nearly three hours later that Snape jerked awake from his unintended nap. After yawning and roughly sweeping a few straggly hairs out from his eyes, he looked over at Hermione and found her surrounded with piles of nearly every book that previous occupied his shelf. She had also fallen asleep, and was using both crossed arms resting atop an open book as a pillow.

"Granger," Snape called in a rough voice, silently wincing as he pulled himself upright. His back ached from sleeping in a slumped over position in the chair and his suit felt as if it wanted to strangle him. "Granger!"

A small furrow appeared between Hermione's brow yet she still did not wake up. Grinding the heel of his palms into both eyes to further rouse himself, Snape then pushed himself up from the armchair and strode over to his desk.

"Hermione," he called again, reaching down to jostle the deeply sleeping witch. "For your sake there better not be any drool on that book."

Hermione was pulled from her slumber when heard a deep voice echoing through her head and felt a hand shaking her. Doggedly coming to and sitting up, she rubbed her eyes while drowsily peering up at Snape.

"Sorry," she mumbled, glancing down to make sure she hadn't damaged his precious book. Finding everything in order, she closed it and pushed it to the corner of the desk. "I didn't mean to use your desk as a bed."

"And my book as a pillow?" Snape dryly offered, waiting for Hermione to stand up. "Come along, I'll walk you upstairs."

"Must I..." Hermione began, sounding unsure. "Do I have to go? It is Saturday and I didn't have anything planned tomorrow..." She pushed her chair back and rose to stand in front of the professor, reaching out to slide her hand into his.

Snape accepted Hermione's hand although his hung limply for a moment, before weaving his fingers through hers. He bowed his head, causing his curtains of black hair to fall forward. Snape then raised his head, revealing a somewhat disturbed countenance that Hermione was unable to comprehend.

"Do you mean to make life difficult for me?" he asked directly, lightly squeezing Hermione's hand.

"No," she softly replied. "Sorry if I am."

"Liar. You don't even look remorseful, so I know that you are not sorry."

"Well, I'm not _trying _to make trouble for you, if that's what you mean!" Hermione snapped, trying to pull her hand out of Snape's, but his grip tightened and refused to allow her to move. "Let me go, since you obviously don't want me here."

"Shut up, you little fool," Snape growled as Hermione tried to jerk away from him again. It took little force for him to pull the witch against his chest until the top of her head was right beneath his chin. "Of course, I don't want you to leave," he mumbled into the impossible thicket of curls tickling his lip. "When do I ever want you to leave?"

Hermione mumbled something unintelligible into the space just to the left of the buttons on Snape's frock coat. He didn't bother asking her to repeat herself; instead Snape slipped one arm around her waist while the other slid up her back, keeping her body flush against his while his lips began their own brand of attack and ravish.

It was no case of a helpless damsel in distress succumbing to the charms of a tall, brawny handsome bloke; helpless was something Hermione could never identify with and Snape was the complete opposite of brawny, although the wiry arms around her were strong and secure. Hermione became lost in Snape for reasons that had nothing to do with his looks or status. For months she had been ignoring the Dark Mark burned into his left forearm; she ignored the teaching robes and his blunt way of speaking that every student whom crossed his path feared. She had fallen for the man whom she spent most of her Christmas holiday with, both of them wearing Snape's pyjamas, drinking Elderflower wine whilst relaxing in the sanctuary of his bed. She fell for the man who had spoken to her in a firm but reassuring tone, promising that she was going to be fine the day Draco hexed her, that he was going to personally make sure she was taken care of.

Hermione honestly hadn't planned on asking Snape if she could stay with him that night. She really meant to just browse his book collection, purely in aims of helping Harry with his and Dumbledore's mission. But the sight of the stringy-haired wizard she'd grown immensely fond of had broken her resolve, and the thought of leaving him to return to the dormitory left her unsettled.

Well, even if he refused to let her stay that night, Hermione decided to savour the moment now, as well as Snape's thin, soft lips nibbling and suckling on hers, only pulling away to plant hot open-mouthed kisses along the underside of her jaw.

"Severus," Hermione murmured between kisses, pressing herself further into him, eager to feel more of his hands running over her clothed back. Even though she was completely covered, Snape went on with caressing her body as if there was nothing between her skin and his hands. He dragged his fingertips down the sweep of her spine, firmly rubbing her shoulders and lower back, depending on where his hands were, all the while kissing her, and Hermione was soon reduced to a pile of limp, languid witch dangling in his arms.

"Severus," she repeated in a much softer tone, sounding almost as if she was ready to fall asleep against his chest. She had been eagerly kissing Snape back, clumsily mirroring his caresses as it had been hard doing so through the thick material of his frock coat.

Gods, but she wanted him. Even if they couldn't make love at the present moment, which admittedly would have been nice, Snape could have given her a shrinking potion and she would gladly swallow every drop, so long as it meant that he would tuck her into his pocket, purely to keep her nearby.

"What am I going to do with you, girl?" Snape softly asked, his long fingers catching beneath Hermione's chin before moving to sweep over her untamed curls.

Hermione's eyes unwillingly slid shut at the soothing contact; she wanted to remained focused on the face before hers, as the precious time she spent with the wizard was becoming cut short. But she was unable to resist the pleasant sensations that sprang forth as a result of those long fingers carding through her hair, an errant thumb sometimes pausing to rub little uneven whorls at her temple.

"I don't know...but I'm yours. Do whatever you want," Hermione finally answered in a shaky voice.

Snape hadn't been expecting that response, yet the shock dimly registered on his face. Silently he continued stroking her, his callused fingers soon moving to trace over the downy soft curve of Hermione's cheek. She had literally been kissed and petted into a stupor, almost pliable as warm dough and making small sounds of impatience whenever his hands stopped moving.

_Hermione Granger, you and your familiar have a lot in common, _Snape thought of the spoilt witch whose will was so easily bent with the faintest of his caresses. Their reactions weren't that far off, although if Snape had to choose between having the soft witch draped across his lap and the cat, he was definitely going with the former.

"You shouldn't tell me things like that," Snape whispered darkly, sliding his hand into the back of Hermione's head and drawing her close until their foreheads were touching. "With such ambiguity I can assume a multitude of scenarios, every one which would work in my favour."

"I don't mind..."

"Hermione, you do not want to freely yield yourself to a depraved bastard like myself."

"I don't know about the depraved bastard part, but don't you think it's a bit late for that? Anyway, I hope you know that when this is all over, a new tune is going to be in order."

Sighing in defeat, Snape kept his forehead against Hermione's. The hooked bridge of his nose was flush against the smooth plane of hers, and he hoped he wasn't suffocating the girl. Angling his head to give her one last kiss, Snape hastily pulled away before Hermione had the chance to cling to him again.

"Your cat can stay, but it's time for you to go," he told her, clasping both hands down onto Hermione's shoulders and steering her towards the door. They were halfway across the room when Hermione suddenly twisted in his grasp and planted her palms flat against his chest, steadying herself on tiptoe to steal another kiss.

Only Hermione had the ability to thaw Snape's icy disposition even when facing the most trying situations. Her slyly given kiss made the corners of his mouth turn up, and even Hermione was mischievously grinning up at him.

"Are you absolutely _sure_ that I have to go?" she asked, deliberately moving at the pace of a tortoise to retrieve the Invisibility Cloak she'd left on the sofa.

Snape stared her down, a look of amusement and impatience on his face. He said something under his breath, the only words Hermione was able to make out consisting of 'impertinent' and 'cunning'. She then stole another kiss, purely to make him grumble some more, and laughed at the screwed up visage of the wizard before her. Still chuckling as she grasped the hem of the silky Invisibility Cloak, Hermione was just about to toss the entire thing over her body when the look on Snape's face changed from one of wry amusement to pure, unadulterated horror. It was as if someone had taken a bucket of ice water and thrown it over his head. Even though his features were harder than stone, there was still a glimpse of real distress hidden in his black eyes.

"Severus? What's wrong?" Hermione asked, now worried. She was about to toss the Cloak down when Snape forcefully grabbed onto his left forearm, as if an open flame had been set beneath it.

Eyes widening as she swiftly grasped onto what was happening, Hermione experienced a sharp pang of shock, disgust, and then fear.

"Is that...do you...?" she began, unable to get out her words. She knew what was going on: to blatantly point it out would have been pointless. But she didn't want to admit the reason for Snape clutching onto his arm because she knew how that evening would end.

As quickly as the professor became unbent, with forced calmness he straightened both arms to his sides and allowed a blank look to come over his face. It was as though he was mentally and physically preparing himself for the chaos that was sure to come.

"Upstairs, now," he ordered in clipped tones, leaving no room for Hermione to argue. "Hurry now, before you're –"

Right as he was about to finish his statement, the sound of the Floo being activated resonated throughout the sitting room, and Snape and Hermione stared at one another. Hermione's feet felt frozen in place, the knowledge that they were about to be caught now a harsh reality. Snape, however, immediately sprang into action, snatching up the Invisibility Cloak and shoving it into her arms.

"Take this, take your familiar, and go into my room," he told her in a low but forceful voice. "Don't make a sound, and don't come out until I tell you."

Nudging Hermione with enough strength to make her move, Snape watched as she darted across the room, silently hissing at Crookshanks to follow her. Thankfully the cat was spry and followed directions easily, because he immediately scampered in Hermione's direction and made no fuss when she scooped him up into her arms and fled to Snape's bedroom.

Hermione had just delved into the dark room, as the hearth wasn't lit, and closed the door when she heard Snape speaking, as well as an unpleasantly familiar voice talking in turn.

"You are not to send Floo calls to my chambers for any reason—you know that," she heard Snape intone in a dangerously low voice.

"I know, Professor, but it's not like I can send a bloody owl through the dungeons," the voice of Draco Malfoy replied. He sounded snooty as ever, but the nervous wavering of his tone betrayed his true emotions. "It's burning, what...are we—"

_"Hold your tongue, Draco," _Snape snapped, cutting him off. "Get your cloak and be outside of the Slytherin common room in five minutes. Make sure you aren't seen."

Hermione had crouched behind the bedroom door, making sure to stay hidden. She didn't think that Snape was going to outright invite Malfoy into his rooms, but she saw no reason to take the chance. The whooshing Floo went silent, and there was nothing. Blood pounding in her ears, Hermione stayed in place, scared to make a sound or even breathe, while nervously holding onto an equally quiet Crookshanks.

The bedroom door suddenly opened and caught Hermione in the knee, and she let out a muffled grunt of pain.

"Granger, what the hell are you doing behind the door?" Snape asked when he realised why he hadn't been able to push it back all the way.

"You said to hide," she replied, shooing Crookshanks out of her arms while trying to ignore her throbbing right knee as she rose to full height.

Snape was already wearing his travelling cloak. He stood in front of Hermione, easily deciphering the anxious look on her face even though they were standing in a room almost completely devoid of light. She was breathing heavily, on the verge of hyperventilating, and he reached up to curve one hand around her neck. He wanted to tell Hermione that he was going to be alright, but the words became stuck in his throat. Besides, he did not want to lie. No matter how fucked up things were, Snape didn't want to lie to Hermione, even if it meant that she would have a few minutes of peace.

_She wouldn't believe you anyway; there's a reason she's been dubbed bright._

Hermione's rapid pulse beat insistently beneath Snape's fingertips. She felt dizzy with fear and was trying to force herself to relax, although her attempts were for naught.

_So much for bravery, _Hermione chided herself, cursing inwardly when she felt her knees threatening to give out.

Snape knew that he needed to hurry along; Draco was loitering in front of the dormitory, which was suspicious in itself. On top of that, the word 'wait' was not in the Dark Lord's vocabulary; when he summoned his followers, he expected for them to drop everything and come running. Excuses for leaving him in the lurch were unheard of, as one Death Eater had learned early on.

With all that hanging over his head, Snape found that he still wanted to allay Hermione's fears, as much as he would be able to in under a minute.

"I don't have long," he began, cupping Hermione's chin in his hand, "but right now I need you to get one of my nightshirts, change into it, get into bed and close your eyes. Don't argue with me, just do it."

"OK," Hermione replied with slight difficulty as her mouth had gone dry. She grasped onto the hand beneath her chin and moved it in front of her face, kissing its palm."I only have one Severus, so you've better take care of the one I've got."

Snape gave her a lingering stare, slowly pulling back his hand.

"I always do," he replied carefully before sweeping out of the bedroom and away from the person whom currently meant the most to him.

* * *

_**Not too much of an evil cliffie? I would be forever in your debt if you left me a little review. Reviews make me happy and I've had a rough couple of days :( thank you soo much :)**_


	38. Chapter 38

_**A/N: I am constantly amazed and touched, and end up grinning like a lunatic when I read your kind words! Thank you so very much, they really did make me feel better. It's frustrating as HELL dealing with this hand, because it's hard to write, not to mention everything else throughout the day. **_

_**This chapter is a bit shorter because...of le stupid hand, but also I need to get to more important stuff which will be done in the next chapter. Sorry, but I will have the tissues ready. **_

_**So if you are enjoying this, make sure to hit follow so you can keep up! I love to entertain you all and aim to continue doing so ;)**_

* * *

It had been more difficult leaving Hermione than Snape anticipated, especially when he kept seeing in his mind the tearful look on her face. But duty called and despite the fact that he might return to Hogwarts feeling like a member of the walking dead, he knew he had to go.

"Why are we being summoned?" Draco asked in a mildly worried voice as he walked alongside Snape.

For once in his life, Draco had actually followed Snape's instructions and had been waiting outside of the common room. The young man's grey eyes looked vacant and he seemed almost detached from his surroundings, yet the way he'd kept twirling his wand between two fingers, which only an extremely observant eye would notice were shaking, had immediately given away his nervousness. Snape had remained silent as they walked throughout the dungeons, up the stairs and out the tall, wide double doors of the entrance hall.

Once they'd walked out into the brisk night air, it seemed to revive Draco somewhat, and the reality of where he and Snape were going finally hit him. A few times the professor had to turn around to make sure the boy was still behind him, and each time he could have sworn that he saw Draco wiping the corner of his eye with his expensive travelling cloak. The moon had been hiding and the sky was completely dark, perfectly matching the moods of both wizards. Snape, however, had made the trek many times out of Hogwarts and had no need for wandlight; he knew all too well this beaten path that so often led him inevitably to harm.

"I know as much as you at the moment, Draco," Snape answered calmly, flicking his wand at the wrought iron Entrance Gates. The winged boars topping each column that flanked the gates appeared eerier than usual in the dark of night, like two archfiends guarding the entrance of some hellish place from where no man ever returned.

The two walked until they were well past the small guardhouse outside of the gate. Snape barely made a sound as he walked, while Draco was less stealthy; had anyone else been around, they definitely would have heard the younger wizard, who somehow managed to make noise even though there was nothing but grass beneath his feet.

Snape had no idea where he and Draco were to specifically meet the Dark Lord, but he had an idea of where they would end up. The Dark wizard preferred places that held an air of melancholy; a graveyard, forests that made the Forbidden Forest look like child's play, or houses that had been abandoned for so long one was able to smell the dust and decay, even past deaths if they sniffed hard enough.

Tonight was no different. Snape and Draco pressed a finger into their Dark Marks and waited for the sickening pull to take place. It only took a few minutes of free-flying through the night sky until they reached their destination. Even though they were absent of Death Eater's robes, they had both worn their cold metal masks and saw easily through the slits that they were the only two who had been summoned to meet with the Dark Lord. As expected, Voldemort was waiting for them in an eerie, unlit clearing in the forest, his skeletal form standing tall in flowing robes, the glow of his unnaturally pale skin making him look wraithlike as ever.

"My Lord," they both greeted in unison after vanishing their masks, stopping a few metres away from the sinister wizard and bowing low.

Snape was already used to the Dark wizard's frightening appearance. Draco had had less personal experiences with him although it was clear that he felt rattled, although he was doing his best to remain calm under the circumstances.

"Severus," Voldemort began, focusing his wide, scarlet eyes at the black-robed wizard whom meekly stood before him. "Draco...ahh, Draco. Just the wizard I need to speak to."

Draco and Snape were standing side by side, Snape making sure to keep eye contact with the Dark Lord. Draco seemed to be having more difficulty with doing the same, and his eyes nervously shifted in between setting on Riddle's face and the thin air beside him.

"I don't like to be kept waiting," Voldemort commented inauspiciously. His words were obviously meant for Draco as both red eyes were focused on the boy's extremely pale face.

"My lord?" Draco asked nervously, sounding as if his tongue had stopped working.

"I gave you a task, did I not? Why am I to understand that Dumbledore is still alive?"

"I..."

"Think carefully before you answer me, Draco."

Stealing a quick glance at the professor, as if Snape was his lifeline, Draco paused for a long while wracking his brain for a response that would entail him avoiding the business end of Voldemort's wand, as well as hopefully leaving away from this meeting in one piece.

"My lord, I beg forgiveness for the intrusion," Snape smoothly interjected, "but I assure you Draco has not been remiss in carrying out his assignment. The odds have been stacked against his favour but he has not forgotten his duties."

"Severus, I do hope you are making sure that the boy remembers where his loyalty lies. It would be a shame for him to land in the same position as Lucius."

Able to peek at Draco out of his peripheral, Snape saw the young man swallowing hard at mention of his shunned father. There was no way Draco would fly off the handle at Voldemort the way he had at Snape when the professor mentioned the elder Malfoy's name.

"But of course, my lord," Snape answered, giving a small bow and exposing the top of his greasy head.

"I want him dead, Severus," Voldemort hissed, uprooting himself and slowly circling the two wizards. "When I give an order I expect it to be carried out. I care not for excuses."

Withdrawing his wand without warning, Voldemort flicked it in Draco's direction and forced him to his knees. Fighting back a wince as he was unceremoniously brought to the uneven forest ground by means of _Imperius_, Draco kept his eyes lowered, too frightened to look up.

Voldemort went on with carrying a conversation with Snape, all the while keeping his wand trained on Draco, intent on keeping the boy in the cramped, uncomfortable position. Snape knew that this method was just another means of the Dark wizard exerting control over his followers, breaking them down so if they ever caught the notion to disobey, they would swiftly remember the possible consequences. Even though it was a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea, if Snape had to choose being put under the _Imperius_ and the _Cruciatus_, then he would go with the _Imperius_. At least Draco was just being forced to kneel, and while the gnarled tree roots beneath his knees were undoubtedly painful, it was nothing compared to the torturous, fiery pain of the _Cruciatus_.

Draco was left on the forest ground for another ten minutes, purely for Voldemort's twisted satisfaction, until he determined that the boy had had enough.

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Voldemort crooned, standing over Draco who had fallen on all fours once the spell was released. "However, I went easy on your father. Do not disappoint me, Draco, for if you do then you will suffer a fate worse than his."

Without another word, Voldemort vanished into the darkness. Draco forced himself to stand up on wobbly legs, grumbling and pushing away Snape's hand when he moved to assist him.

"I don't need your help!" he spat, looking as if he were seconds away from losing the contents of his stomach to the forest ground.

Shaking his head, Snape stood in place while waiting for Draco to get his bearings together. The boy had finally stopped holding his breath, a feeling Snape was all too familiar with when he first joined the Death Eaters. One would have been a fool to not be afraid of the Dark Lord, especially since the wizard had zero tolerance for those who went against him. While Snape did a much better job at concealing it, he still had his own fears where the Dark Lord was concerned.

Snape had very nearly lost his own life when he stayed away after believing that the Dark Lord was gone. He'd paid for his absence dearly, and suffered damage that came by gnarled hand as well as wand from Voldemort. Snape had taken his punishment with no fuss, knowing the burden he promised to bear. If anything, being tortured had made him further play his role to the hilt.

"Vomit now if you have to," Snape told Draco, whom was still trembling and looking shell-shocked. "Then we will return to school."

Draco swore under his breath, but he ended up darting behind a tree anyway, producing loud retching sounds as his lost his composure. The blond still managed to look much too smug for someone who'd become sick, but Snape ignored this and turned on his heel to walk out of the forest.

* * *

Hermione had followed Snape's instructions without deviating in the slightest. With trembling hands she had taken off her pullover, jumper, and bra. Her jeans had been next but she had been so distracted that she pushed both legs down and wondered why she was unable to remove them until realising that her trainers were still firmly attached to her feet. Slowly unrigging herself of both items, Hermione stood shivering in the cool, dank air of Snape's room, clad only in her socks and knickers while mechanically looking around for a nightshirt.

She had never gone through the bureau in Snape's room or any of his personal belongings for that matter. That night was the first time he'd given her free reign to peruse his book collection; apparently that invitation had been extended to his bedroom, as he hadn't said exactly where his nightclothes were stored.

It only took a few minutes for Hermione to find said garment. Snape's socks and underwear had been neatly separated into two different drawers. Sleeveless vests were in another, and Hermione searched until she came across the stack of familiar grey nightshirts.

After slipping one over her quivering body, she climbed into bed and pulled the thick duvet up to her head. With only her in the room it had been entirely too quiet, and the absence of sound only further added to her malaise.

_Sleep, Hermione, _she'd told herself. _Go to sleep; Severus will return before you know it._

But no matter how many times she'd chanted those words inside her head, sleep refused to come. Crookshanks was able to sense his mistress' distress and jumped onto the bed, curling up next to her.

"Crooks...you're the only one I can talk to," Hermione whispered to her cat as she gently stroked his messy hair. "I know that you won't tell my secrets. What if he's hurt? What if..."

Refusing to finish her sentence, Hermione bit down hard on her bottom lip but it did not stop the tears that were suddenly stinging her eyes. She didn't _think _that Severus was going to die that night; obviously Voldemort needed him for some reason. But it still did not thwart the many horrendous scenarios that nagged her whenever she knew Severus had gone to meet him.

Crookshanks offered support the best way an animal was able: he rested his bushy, squashed head close to Hermione's, as if silently consoling her. His deep purring eventually lulled her into a more quiescent state, but Hermione did not want to sleep until she knew that Severus had safely returned.

In the end, her overwrought brain caught up with her body, and Hermione was forced to shut her eyes.

Crookshanks had stayed awake long after his mistress fell asleep. It was clear that she was obviously distressed about her companion leaving that evening. He would have sunk his teeth into the wizard's hand to try and make him stay, but had a feeling that he would have regretted doing so. After all, the dark man was the one who protected his mistress. He was less boorish when she was nearby and more than once Crookshanks had caught him staring at her when she wasn't looking.

Not to mention that the man kept him well fed, scratched his favourite place behind his ears, and let him take as many catnaps as he wanted before the fire. His mistress' friends were often too noisy and he could not stand the orange freckled one, whom admittedly had his pleasant moments but mostly annoyed him just the same.

There was no point in thinking of the orange one's pet rat who really hadn't been a rat; Crookshanks knew from the off that the blighter was not to be trusted, and had no idea why it had not been obvious to the human boy.

At the present moment Crookshanks wished that he was on the prowl for vermin, as nightfall nearly always proved to be a fruitful hunting time. However, his presence had seemed to calm his mistress and he chose to stay next to her.

He had just settled his head on two crossed paws when she cried out and shifted in her sleep. The movement jolted him slightly without pushing him out of place. She soon went still but seconds later flailed again, this time accidentally shoving him to the floor.

The half-kneazle landed with a thump on all fours. There was no fire lit in the bedroom and even though he had been warm lying next to Hermione, Crookshanks did not want to get shoved again. Resigning himself to the cold floor, he was just about to pull down a length of black material that smelled like the missing in action wizard, when Hermione made another sound of distress.

Hopping onto the nightstand, Crookshanks peered over at the fitfully sleeping witch. Through the murky darkness of the room he was able to see her tangled up beneath the sheets, almost as if she were wrestling with them. It was nearly like the time he'd gone searching for the butterbeer corks that he'd hidden beneath Snape's bed. Crookshanks had trotted into the room only to find the two tussling with one another beneath the sheets. The noise they made was strange yet incomparable to an alley cat. Swiftly deciphering that the two most likely had wanted to be left alone, Crookshanks forgot about the corks, even though it had been hard to tune out all of the moans and grunts.

His mistress was making just as much noise now although her eyes were still closed, but it did not look as if she was enjoying herself. She always looked like she was enjoying herself whenever the dark man was near. Perhaps she also enjoyed having her head scratched the way he did. The dark man did give one hell of a head scratch. But whatever was happening now alarmed the half-kneazle because considering his small proportions, there was but so much he could do.

Grasping Hermione's hair between his teeth did nothing to wake her, nor did sweeping his bushy tail over her face. She snuffled a bit but went right on with whimpering, never once opening her eyes. Over and over she called for her wizard, and the cat wished he was there to comfort her.

Some small clicking noise from the front room suddenly drew his attention, and Crookshanks let go of Hermione's hair and leapt from the bed. The front room was just as dark as the bedroom but that did not stop him from easily finding the man.

Snape had collapsed into the armchair before the unlit hearth, shoulders slumped as if defeated, his head buried in both hands. While it was true that he had met with Voldemort in the thick of night countless times over the years, it still never made each ordeal any easier. Their meeting that night had been more trying than usual; with much distaste, Snape had remembered the Unbreakable Vow he'd made with Narcissa, which had forced him to jump between her son and the Dark Lord. That was risky enough and Snape had been fervently hoping that the Dark Lord would not see his interruption as an act of disrespect. At the same time, he had been reminded of his other promise previously made to Dumbledore.

His mind completely monopolised with thoughts of every coercive person in his life, Snape almost didn't notice the half-kneazle clamping his tiny sharp teeth down on the hem of his travelling cloak and tugging with all his might. The damned thing perhaps thought he was a lion instead of a half-breed cat, but he pulled hard enough that it finally garnered Snape's attention.

The wizard was too preoccupied to bother with fussing at the creature, but he did stand up and follow it into his bedroom. Immediately Snape honed in on Hermione writhing about in his bed while feverishly murmuring his name.

It sounded as if she was in the throes of a nightmare, something Snape could relate to although he never shared that with anyone, not even Hermione. Plenty of times he had literally shot out of sleep, upright in bed with his wand in hand, pointing it into the darkness. It wasn't likely that anyone would be able to get past any wards that he set up, but Snape had always been the sort to hex first and ask questions later. Yet each time he woke up brandishing his wand, he'd felt like an idiot, considering that the only thing moving in his bedroom had been the flickering flames at the hearth.

There was no telling if Hermione would wake up the same way, but Snape had no intention of finding out. Slipping his hand beneath her pillow and withdrawing her wand, he then roughly shook her shoulder until she awoke with a sharp gasp.

"Severus?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Are you alright?"

"Yes...no. Well, I am now that you're here," she replied in a cracked voice, shoving the twisted sheets and duvet back and kneeling up on her haunches.

Hermione's night terrors had cause her to sweat profusely and the too-large nightshirt draped over her frame was damp and rumpled. Shivering as she scooted closer to the edge of the bed to seek out Severus in the dark, Hermione let out a small exhale of relief when his fingertip swiped down her cheek.

"You've been crying. Why?"

The part of her face that Snape had just touched felt cooler when he moved his finger away."Have I?" Hermione asked, shocked when she brought her own hand up to touch a tear-streaked face. "I hadn't noticed...I guess it was my dream. I...I dreamt that you were dead."

Snape said nothing for several minutes as he stroked Hermione's hair. She was still shivering but had slumped against him, pressing her forehead to his clothed chest. Staring out into the dark, he continuously mulled over Hermione's last sentence.

He was far from being dead; miraculously he'd left the Dark Lord without receiving so much as a scratch. Draco had also been lucky, even if his knees were likely to range between blue and purple by morning. No, that evening the only battle scars Snape had been bestowed were mental. Although for a quick moment he'd feared the Unbreakable Vow making itself known had he not thrown himself between Draco and the Dark Lord.

Had Voldemort found out, he would have most likely killed them both. Snape knew that his role as Dumbledore's confidante was paramount to the Dark Lord's future plans. However, Snape never took that to mean that he could not be easily disposed of like so many others.

_Are you ever going to stop crying? _Hermione was now asking herself, feeling somewhat foolish.

No, was perhaps the best answer. Not for a long time, and definitely not while the peacefulness of the entire wizarding world was being balanced on a precarious edge.

Hermione hated crying; she hated for anyone to see her cry. There had been a time where Severus Snape was the last person on earth that she would shed a tear in front of, much less for him. Now he was the only one wiping them from her face. If she had to cry, she would rather do it in front of him, and have him be the one drying her eyes.

Ever since walking into the bedroom and accidentally waking Hermione, Snape had been a rigid pillar of a wizard, still tense all over from the events of that evening. That rigidness soon took the form of exhaustion, and he planted a brief kiss on the top of Hermione's head before pulling back from her to get undressed.

"Severus, where's my wand?" Hermione asked, straining to see where he was in the dark room. She had just slid her hand beneath her pillow and met with nothing but cool fabric. Not wanting to move in case it had gotten shifted between the folds of the sheets, she remained kneeling in that one place.

"I have it," Snape answered, his voice carrying over from the opposite side of the bed. "Give me a minute and I'll give it to you."

"How did you get it in the first place?" Hermione asked, feeling more at ease now that she knew her wand was safe. But after her hellish nightmare, she told herself that she would feel even calmer once Severus was next to her.

With everything that she had experienced up until now, a bad dream every now and then was to be expected. But her nightmare had been nothing short of horrific, and short of being Obliviated, Hermione knew that she would never forget.

She had dreamt that Voldemort found out about her and Severus. Hermione had been forced to watch her lover being repeatedly tortured while Death Eaters painfully held her back, sharp fingers digging into her wrists and neck. Draco Malfoy and his father were in the front, laughing as hex after hex had been cast upon a profusely bleeding Severus. Finally she had been allowed to go over to him, only for him to lock black, bloodshot eyes with her and take his last shuddering breath before dying in her arms.

That dream had been entirely too realistic and Hermione feared it had been permanently etched into her memory. Right before waking, the last thing she remembered was pressing her lips to Severus' wet forehead, tasting the coppery tang of his blood on her tongue. Everything had gone black and red; dark red blood on her arms, soiling her clothes and her hands wherever they touched Severus. The jeering, snide remarks of the other Death Eaters had faded to a buzz in her ears; they all faded into obscurity once Severus was in her arms, and the only thing she'd been able to focus on was him. Even Voldemort's presence no longer scared her in her dream once she realised that the man she loved had been taken from her.

_No._

_Oh no._

_Don't you__** dare **__say a word to him._

Just as Hermione sat there arguing with herself, the hearth roared to life and cast a generous amount of light in her direction. Three am was typically not a time where Hermione worried about her looks; actually, it could have been three in the afternoon and she wouldn't have cared. But at the moment she knew she looked a frightful mess; her hair felt like it was all over her head and kept falling into owl-wide eyes, not to mention her shocking new revelation which most likely showed all over her face.

Part of Hermione wished that Snape had left the hearth unlit; right now she really did not need him to look at her. But after her nightmare, she needed to physically lay eyes upon him, to convince herself that he was actually standing before her.

Through the warm glow of the room, Hermione could see that Snape was pale as a sheet, otherwise he had no visible injuries that needed tending to. She briefly marveled at the way he had taken off his travelling cloak and suit in the dark, and then swiftly changing into nightclothes. Still silently appraising her wizard, Hermione didn't notice that Snape was staring at her until she refocused her eyes.

Nervously averting her gaze, Hermione preoccupied herself with restraightening the duvet while waiting for Snape to climb into bed with her. His stare continued to burn into the side of her face, and she desperately hoped that he wasn't using Legilimency on her. She didn't think he would do so without asking, but one never knew with Severus Snape.

"Drink this," he interrupted, holding a glass in Hermione's direction.

At some point he had filled a glass with water and was now waiting for her to take it. After her initial sip Hermione found that her throat was rather dry, and drained it with a few gulps.

"Now lie back down and close your eyes," Snape continued, plucking the empty glass from Hermione's hand and setting it on the nightstand.

Hermione did as she was told and shut her eyes once her head hit the pillow. But no matter how hard she tried to rest, sleep refused to come. Snape had no issues of the sort, and was snoring shortly after lying down. Perhaps he was exhausted, or maybe it was the feel of Hermione slowly pulling her fingers through his hair that put him to sleep. Either way, Hermione didn't mind not being able to rest; if she stayed awake, then she would constantly be reassured that Severus hadn't died, that he was lying next to her, his narrow back aligned with her front.

Making a mental note to remind the wizard about his own horrendous snoring, Hermione continued stroking his hair, slipping that same arm over his narrow waist when it became fatigued. Through his nightshirt she continued stroking the sharp-angled planes of his body, tracing her fingertips over his jutting hipbone and protruding ribcage.

A slight flurry of movement at the foot of the bed gave away Crookshanks, whom had just reentered the room. The feline looked as if he had taken his place on top of Snape's feet, but the professor was so worn out that he never noticed. A little smile touched Hermione's lips; trust her familiar to be able to make her smile even when being smack dab in the middle of a disquieting situation. Entranced by the sound of Severus' steady breathing, Hermione told herself to be grateful for small things; Severus was safe and in her arms, and her beloved pet sat at their feet. Considering the way things were going, she decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

* * *

Snape and Hermione hadn't exchanged many words the next morning. They did, however, remain in bed, indulging in the soothing quiet that was always present upon waking up. Perhaps it had been careless to linger about instead of hightailing it back to Gryffindor tower, but Hermione vowed to take extra precaution when leaving.

And besides, hadn't her own best friends told her that Sunday mornings were made for lie-ins?

But all good things had to come to an end, and with a heavy heart, Hermione dragged herself out of bed and gathered her personal belongings. Her clothing had been left in a heap in one of the armchairs before the hearth, as she had been too distracted the night before to properly fold them.

Snape had also shifted out of bed and was now standing at the doorway to his bedroom. He looked a bit haggard as he raptly watched Hermione getting dressed.

Even though they hadn't been physically intimate the night before, Hermione felt a bit shy as she remembered a certain four-letter word that immediately came to mind concerning the professor. She found it a bit difficult to look at him, but it helped when taking into consideration his rumpled figure. Snape's normally lank black hair was ruffled and sticking up in the back; his dark eyes were bloodshot and he needed a shave in the worse way.

The latter observance had been a moot point to Hermione; she had snuggled her face against his while they still lay in bed. She'd had to ignore the bristly scruff that scratched her delicate skin, but it was a small price to pay for stealing another close moment with her wizard.

"You know I hate this part," Hermione said plaintively, shooting Severus a sulky little look.

"I'd noticed," he replied, brushing back Hermione's sleep tousled curls when she moved closer to him. "You always draw out this part for as long as possible." Snape dropped both hands to her shoulders, resting them there for a while before doing up the zipper of her pullover.

"You never seem to mind," Hermione told him. She briefly considered reaching up to get one last kiss, but quickly shunned the idea, not wanting to get anywhere near Severus' mouth without first brushing her teeth.

Snape gave a small chuckle at that comment. Apparently he had the same idea about not kissing Hermione, but he did brush his tightly-pressed together lips against her forehead.

"That's because I don't," he whispered silkily into her ear, using both arms pull Hermione close and give her a brief, light squeeze. "Now off you go, Miss Granger."

* * *

The next few weeks passed uneventfully. Hermione hadn't gleaned much from the many textbooks she'd pored over while in Snape's room, and she, Ron and Harry were no closer to finding out what a Horcrux was. The Apparition test also loomed over their heads, and it was all the of age students could talk about.

Unfortunately, Ron failed his Apparation test and was in a sulky mood for a solid week. Hermione breezed through hers, and her jovial mood was dampened by the look on Ron's face when Twycross continued loudly praising her achievement. While she was happy about passing, she was unable to ignore the flicker of embarrassment for being made the centre of attention, especially since there was a handful of other students that had also failed and sent looks of pure loathing in her direction.

Harry had been in detention with Snape that morning, and upon returning to the castle, Hermione went straight to the library. She figured that Ron needed some time to sort out his thoughts, but at the same time, she felt herself getting angry. Why should she feel bad that she had passed her test and not Ron? She'd spent every moment poring over the leaflets that had been freely given with each practice lesson. It wasn't her fault that Ron tossed his leaflets aside, more concerned with snogging Lavender instead of committing to memory the tips and tricks recommended for wizards that were new to Apparition.

Complaining to Harry was not going to fly either; besides being cross for having to spend his every Saturday morning with Snape, he was doubly upset that he was not yet of age, thus being unable to take the Apparition test.

Hermione had little sympathy for Harry; she'd found out that he was using his defaced copy of _Advanced Potion-Making _again, even after vehemently claiming that he'd gotten rid of it. It was as if he had forgotten about the whole ordeal with Malfoy. But if Harry wanted to be hard-headed, Hermione vowed to wash her hands of everything. Harry told her that he was making an effort to stay away from Malfoy, but Hermione overhead him telling Ron when he thought no one else was listening, that he was still attempting to see what the blond was doing in the Room of Requirement.

Without bothering to point out to Harry that Snape had told him to stop snooping and to mind his own business, Hermione pretended that she never heard the boys' conversation. If something else happened, Harry being expelled the worst scenario Hermione was able to come up with, then it would be on his conscience.

In spite of being mildly irritated with both boys, Hermione reminded herself that they were still her best friend. Thus she found herself helping them revise for their upcoming exams.

It was no rare thing for her to be alone in the library on a Sunday afternoon. Hermione settled down at a desk to write out an outline of topics the three would need to memorise for Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Potions and Herbology, which she would then duplicate to share with Ron and Harry. And Neville, whom had caught Hermione climbing out of the portrait in Gryffindor Tower, and asked if she minded helping him study. Notes and remarks were scribbled all over each parchment, even in the margins. With a bit of distaste, Hermione thought that her notes closely resembled Harry's defaced Potions text.

"Hi, Luna," said Hermione with a tone of surprise when she paused from digging through her rucksack for a new quill, looking up to find the blonde sitting at the end of her table. "What brings you here on a Sunday?"

Luna had been scratching her head with the butt end of her wand while frowning down at a book. As befitting the odd witch, today she wore several bracelets made out of tiny buttons. Her long, straggly blonde hair was tied back into a messy ponytail, exposing a pair of button earrings that matched her bracelet. Taking into consideration Luna's offbeat button jewelry, Hermione thought that it didn't look half as strange as the radish earrings.

"Hello, Hermione," called Luna placidly. "I'm helping Daddy to look for a spell to get rid of Scrougher mites. He says he can't find any spells that work and I'd promised to look in the library for him."

Hermione wondered what the hell Scrougher mites were but knew better than to ask. She was also tempted to ask if it was for her dad's tabloid newspaper, yet refrained. Hermione had once referred to _The Quibbler _as rubbish, and Luna hadn't taken kindly to that at all.

"Right. Erm, do you need some help?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Luna replied, still scratching her head with her wand and unblinking staring down at a book on the table. "Why are you alone? Did you and Ron and Harry get into another fight?"

"Not exactly..." Hermione trailed off, in no mood to elaborate.

Ron had finally come around, especially once she promised to help him with the next Apparition exam. Harry was still a bit touchy, but Hermione attributed that to him missing Quidditch, having detention every weekend, not being able to spend time with Ginny now that she was busy studying for her own exams, and Dumbledore constantly pressing him to find a way to get Slughorn to speak.

"Friends fight sometimes," Luna began sagely, "but you three always seem to come around. That's nice. I haven't got many friends to fight with, so at least you have that."

_There we go with that uncomfortable honesty, _Hermione thought.

"Say, Luna, maybe you can help me look for a few books?" she suddenly asked, eager to stop Luna from going off on a tangent. "I would really appreciate it."

"Alright," Luna happily agreed, sticking her wand behind her ear and rising from the bench. Hermione walked right to the stacks where she thought she might find what she needed. Luna immediately began pulling books down while chattering happily about something, what specifically Hermione didn't know as she found it hard to focus. The entire time, Luna's tiny button-bracelets round her wrist clacked against one another.

The girls remained in the stacks across the room for some time. When they finally returned to their work table, Hermione found a few books next to her things that she didn't remember seeing before. After perusing each title, it was plain that she had definitely never come across these particular tomes, but a quick flip through the pages told that they would be helpful with her studying.

While Luna was re-engaged with her Scrougher research, Hermione wondered where the new books came from, until she found a scrap of parchment resting atop the revision outlines she'd made for herself and her friends. Everything else had been left in place in the same order she'd left it, even her quill which had been hastily dropped down onto the table and left at a skewed angle.

_'Are you going to wipe their noses as well?' _read the parchment in a familiar, spidery handwriting.

Every word dripped with sarcasm. It was obvious who the note was referring to, as she had written Ron, Harry, and Neville's names on top of each revision outline. Panic took over for a minute, as Hermione began wondering if anyone saw the note's sender walking past. This was different yet thrilling, considering how she was never personally acknowledged in public, but all the same, Hermione found the unorthodox gesture to be touching. Furtively looking around to see if the black-haired wizard was still around, she was highly disappointed to see that he was nowhere in sight.

_And that's the thing with snakes, _Hermione laughed to herself. _You may not see them, but they always see you._

* * *

_**A/N: ;) as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts! All of them, even if you think it's silly which let me say? I've yet to read one silly comment left on this story. I love hearing from everyone, and they make my sad wrist feel better :)**_


	39. Chapter 39

_**A/N: Hello! Hope everyone had a nice holiday. So I'm trying to do faster updates, which is why I've not yet responded to reviews from last chapter. But! After I get some sleep, I will be harassing, err, thanking everyone ;). I think I was a bit premature on the tissue thing, unless this chapter ends up making you teary-eyed. If so, I will be here to console you.**_

_**Again, thank you for the reviews, follows, and alerts! Follow if you want to be notified of updates, look for my pen name on facebook if you feel the need to stalk/swear/or cry to me. Remember that I'm offering a one-shot of your choice to whoever gets the 200th review. Honestly, it's the least I can do for you folks being so amazing and supporting my mad habit of writing fanfic. I aim to please! **_

_**Shutting up now. Please enjoy and remember, I do enjoy hearing from you!**_

* * *

"Harry, now no offense, but I think I speak for all of us when I say you're missed as Captain," Ron grumbled after sidling next to Harry in independent study.

Ron, Harry and Hermione were in the Great Hall. Hermione suggested that the three work on their Herbology homework and was feverishly trying to add more to an already lengthy essay. Ever since the group sat down at Gryffindor table, Ron had spent the better part of fifteen minutes seated next to Hermione, breaking his neck by trying to see what she was writing. When she had finally grown tired of him knocking into her every time he looked over surreptitiously—which was a horrible word, because each time he leaned in her direction, his bright orange hair was right beneath her nose –she berated him so fiercely that he hastily gathered his things and moved to sit next to Harry, who was on the other side of the table.

Harry had been finishing up his Potions homework, with the use of his usual textbook. He knew that it was a sore spot with Hermione, and attempted to keep it concealed beneath a sheaf of blank parchment. For once in her life, Hermione held her tongue, not wanting to get into a row. Ron had already told her that Harry performed poorly in Potions the week she had been in the hospital wing. Initially he had gotten rid of the book, but after flunking everything that second week of going to class without the text, Harry became hard up and scoured the Room of Requirement until finding it.

"Yeah, well, it can't be help, can it?" Harry grumbled in response to Ron's comment. "At this rate, the next time I'll get to _see_ the Quidditch Pitch will be next school term."

"Maybe if we take some of your lucky potion, we can win the next game," said Ron, frowning as he looked down at his barely written essay.

"Harry needs to be focusing on getting that memory from Slughorn," said Hermione bossily. "I thought you would be able to cosy up to him at one of his dinner parties, but I notice that his invitations have suddenly stopped. All before Harry had to duck and dodge the professor, now outside of classes and meals, we barely see him."

"Too bad about the parties," said Ron. "I really enjoyed those biscuits Ginny gave me. I wonder where he—say, _Harry!"_

"What?" Harry asked, surprised at the sudden excitement in Ron's voice.

"Harry, your lucky potion!" Ron continued, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You can use it to get that memory from old Sluggy!"

"Oh, I'm so stupid!" Hermione berated herself, slapping one hand to her forehead. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you were too busy with other things," Ron chortled. "And it's my turn to be clever. So what d'you say?"

"I don't know..." Harry trailed off, only for his two best friends to look at him as if he'd lost his mind. "I thought I'd save it for...I dunno!"

"What on earth is important than this memory, Harry?" Hermione demanded. Harry's eyes went out of focus for a moment, and she waved a hand in front of his face to regain his attention. "Harry? Are you still with us?"

"Yeah," he answered distractedly. "I was just—"

Harry paused midsentence when a girl, whom the three had never spoken to, approached their table. She handed a small scroll to Harry and walked away.

"Is it Dumbledore?" Ron asked, craning his head to look on as Harry unrolled the parchment.

"No, it's from Hagrid," Harry answered after scanning its contents, "and it's for all of us. Aragog died and he wants us to come to his burial." He handed the note to Hermione, who quickly read it and handed it to Ron.

"Here," she said exasperatedly, watching as Ron's face crumpled into a frown, followed by his mouth gaping open in shock.

"He's _mental!" _he said furiously. "That thing told its mates to eat Harry and me! And now Hagrid expects us to go down there and cry over its horrible hairy body!"

"It's not just that," said Hermione, thinking of all the other times she, Harry and Ron had snuck out of the castle. They had usually hidden beneath Harry's Invisibility Cloak, but they were all considerably shorter at the time. Ron was now the tallest of the three, and if she and Harry were to join him beneath the Cloak, their entire lower half would be exposed. "He's asking us to leave the castle at night, and he knows security's a million times tighter and how much trouble we'd be in if we were caught."

Hermione didn't know if it was selfish of her to try and get out of supporting Hagrid in his time of need, but she had also momentarily thought of Snape if he were to catch them sneaking out. It was plain that Harry was and would most likely permanently remain on his bad side. Ron would receive punishment by default, and Hermione knew that even she wouldn't escape scot-free. Not to mention the unmitigated tongue lashing she would get once they were alone.

She knew that this next point would annoy Harry, but still told him that he would get into further trouble with Snape if were to get caught. Harry sighed when Hermione mentioned his string of detentions that were already taking over his every Saturday, but finally mumbled that Hagrid would have to bury Aragog on his own.

Hermione was somewhat relieved when the conversation turned back to Harry getting the memory from Slughorn. Just as they were formulating a plan of action, the bell rang, signaling the few minutes they had to make it to class.

* * *

Over dinner, Ron told Harry that he should just go ahead and use his Felix Felicis. They knew that Slughorn had a tendency to linger over each meal, and decided that waiting in the common room was feasible. Since they had time to kill, Harry had been glued to Ginny's side. Ron was unable to get away from Lavender, who was in a highly chipper mood that evening. Hermione ignored them all and used the time to read. She was so deeply engrossed in her book that she didn't notice when the common room went silent.

"Hey!" she yelled when her book was suddenly snatched out of her hands.

"Everyone's gone; c'mon," said Harry, grabbing Hermione by the forearm and trying to tug her up from the armchair.

"Reading, reading, always bloody reading," Ron griped, wrinkling his nose as he eyed the book he'd tugged from Hermione's grasp. He tossed it down onto the armchair, and Hermione yanked it back up as if it were a baby.

Thumping Ron in the back with her book before following behind Harry, Hermione held her breath as if they were on the verge of being discovered doing something forbidden. Perhaps they were, but this was small in comparison to some of their previous offences. Once they were in the empty boys' dormitory, she sat on the edge of Harry's bed, watching as he popped open his trunk to rifle through its contents.

"Goodness, Harry," said Hermione, adopting a surprised tone. "Don't you think you ought to clean up a bit?"

Hermione had already known that Harry's trunk was in a state. Most of the time, she outright asked to borrow his map and Cloak. But she had used the Cloak a few times without his permission, and it had entailed sneaking up to the boys' dormitory and going in his trunk. The mess inside nearly rivaled some of Crookshanks' disgusting hairballs that he hacked up, and Hermione had pulled a face at the thought of putting her hand inside. Each time she'd fervently prayed that she wouldn't stick in an arm and withdraw a stump. And each time, the ends justified the means, and it had been worth shoving her hand into the questionable abyss because it meant that she would be able to see Snape.

"What for?" Ron and Harry answered at the same time, causing Hermione to roll her eyes. Really, how could she forget that her best friends were the Chief Slobs?

"Never mind," she sighed, watching as Harry pulled out a manky rolled-up sock, withdrawing the tiny glass phial hidden within it.

It was agreed that Harry only needed a small portion of the Felix Felicis, and he drank about a quarter of the phial. After a few minutes, he announced that he was going down to Hagrid's after all, and Ron and Hermione looked at him as if he'd gone insane. Hermione feebly tried to talk Harry out of it, but he was confident that everything was going to work out.

"I don't care what he says," Ron said after Harry had thrown on his Invisibility Cloak and left Gryffindor Tower. "Dead or alive, you couldn't pay me enough to go near that thing," he continued with an exaggerated shudder as memories of Aragog and his children came to mind.

At first, Hermione thought that Ron had been exaggerating. But going by the look on his face, along with Hagrid's horrendous habit of keeping deadly creatures around, she knew that the sight of Aragog must have been truly horrific.

"Where's that evil cat of yours?" Ron suddenly asked.

His question surprised Hermione: Ron didn't like Crookshanks, and Crookshanks didn't like Ron. Not to mention that Ron sometimes had the attention span of a gnat, so she was surprised that he noticed her familiar's absence.

"Lurking about, I suppose," Hermione answered, although she was ninety-nine percent sure that Crookshanks was with their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. "Most likely doing a bit of late-night hunting."

"Yeah? I haven't seen him around lately," Ron continued as he and Hermione walked down the narrow stone staircase leading to the common room. "While he's out, tell him to hunt for a nicer attitude, cos the one he has now is crap."

"Ron, he's a cat! And he doesn't have a 'crap attitude'. Besides, how do you expect him to behave?"

Ron didn't get to answer, because Lavender appeared out of thin air and demanded his attention. With nothing left to do but continue reading, Hermione climbed out of the portrait hole with the book that Ron had snatched from her earlier tucked beneath her arm.

The sun was just going down, and the corridors were bathed in a soft glow. Hermione wondered how Harry was faring, and if he'd got out of the castle without any trouble. She figured the Felix Felicis must have been working, because their Head of House, or worse, Filch, hadn't yet come storming towards Gryffindor Tower. She had no idea how visiting Hagrid would coincide with obtaining Slughorn's memory, but continuously thinking about it all made her head throb.

At the current moment, there was also an ache residing in the centre of her chest. Ever since the last night she'd spent with Snape, Hermione felt more sorrowful than she would have anticipated.

It was no secret that reading to Hermione was what air was to everyone else. Perhaps they would have been a bit shocked if they were to learn just what sort of books she sometimes preferred. Hermione, like her mum, loved to read all sorts of periodicals and the like. What they also had in common was their shared affinity for romance novels.

Hermione had come across her mum's naughty book collection when she was about nine-years-old. Back then, the idea of swooning damsels-in-distress and brawny, shirtless men sweeping said damsels off their feet made her laugh. It wasn't until she was older that she was able to appreciate the finer points of some of the romance angles in a few of the stories. Too bad they gave the most unrealistic idea of what falling in love entailed. The physical aspects...well, some had been glazed over but even Hermione's fertile mind would never have been able to foresee the things she'd experienced with Severus.

Unfortunately, she now understood the cliché phrase that she'd heard many times over: 'love hurts'.

There hadn't been any books written about a young woman falling in love with her professor, who was nineteen years her senior, and whom also happened to be a Death Eater. There was no how-to on coping with the idea of someone you loved going out in the dark of night to risk life and limb for a cause that might not ever truly end.

When Hermione first admitted her true feelings to herself, part of her refused to tell Severus, purely because she didn't want the wizard to react unfavourably. But a sliver of her was certain that if she were to confess, the sentiment would not be returned. Therefore, she deemed not knowing how he felt to be better than anything.

So even though she resigned herself to keeping that heartfelt sentiment securely locked away, it still didn't nullify the pang of desolation she experienced whenever she saw the professor.

All of this made Hermione work extra hard to keep herself distracted. She studied double her usual time, staying in the library for so long that her friends had to literally take her books and drag her away, mostly because she was forgetting to come down for meals. She even endured the smart-alecky remarks from Ron, when he chortled that he didn't think there were any books left in the world for her to read.

_I'm going mad, _Hermione thought. She'd taken to pacing along the corridor and came upon a stone bench. Carelessly dropping her book onto it, she sat down without looking. The book had been balanced on the edge and toppled to the floor, sending an old yellowed piece of newsprint fluttering out, along with the note Snape had left for her in the library. Hastily bending to pick everything up and shove it back between the book's pages, Hermione slumped against the wall and idly picked at the cuticle on her right ring finger.

_Should I tell him? Honestly, what's the worst that can happen?_

_Really? Would you like to pick a reason? And besides, let's say you did tell him—then what? You still have to have him for this year and next as a teacher, and it's not like you'd be able to visit him over the hols or allow him to visit you. What would you say to your parents; 'Hello, Mum and Dad! This is my professor who also happens to be my lover. But don't worry, it's not as if he took advantage of me. I was of age when our relationship began.' They'd sic the Muggle police on him and would pull you out of Hogwarts so fast your head would spin._

Inhaling sharply when she began to feel her chest tighten with anxiety, Hermione stood up and began walking further away from the dormitory. She didn't want any of her classmates to come out and ask her what was wrong, because she knew that panic was all over her face.

_Perhaps some fresh air? _

_Right, fine. _

It didn't take long to walk to the Astronomy Tower. Hermione wasn't bold enough to try and literally walk out of the castle like Harry had. Besides, there were guards stationed outside of the doors to the Entrance Hall. Harry most likely had gotten past them because of his lucky potion, but the only thing Hermione had going for her at the moment was a self-inflicted Disillusion Charm.

None of that mattered much to her, because she didn't plan on staying out long. Harry and Ron were both busy, so they wouldn't be looking for her. Snape would undoubtedly have a word or two if he found her roaming on her lonesome, but some twisted part of her didn't mind the castigation so long as it entailed being next to the professor. The closest she had received as an acknowledgment from Snape as of late was him referring to one of her answers in Defence class as 'dull and uninspiring'. Otherwise, he merely looked past her as if she were made of thin air.

_You have crossed the line of insane, and are now well into the world of sadistic, you twisted witch, _Hermione told herself. _The fact that you would prefer punishment, just so you can see him, speaks volumes. What's next, prostrating yourself at his door? Staying after class for 'extra tutoring sessions' and dropping your robes? _

"Miss Granger," said a quiet voice that broke Hermione from her harsh mind trip and caused her to smile. "Why does it look as if you're in the middle of some crisis?"

_Because I sort of am, a self-imposed one. _Looking up, she saw her favourite person that had a penchant for sarcasm and head-to-toe black garb. "Good evening, professor."

"Don't you 'good evening, professor' me, Granger," said Snape bitingly. "What the hell are you doing up here after curfew?"

"Nothing. Just thinking," she answered casually, hoping that he would stay a while.

"You know," Snape began as he lowered himself next to Hermione, something that shocked and pleased her. She'd thought nothing of taking a seat on the floor of the tower, even if the cool, rough surface was uncomfortable against her bum and thighs. "Every student here has this thing; dormitory, I believe it's called. I need to inform the headmaster of your unfortunate plight."

"And what might this plight be?" Hermione asked, nibbling on her bottom lip.

"Your unfortunate plight of being the lost, little Gryffindor, without a dormitory in which to rest her swotty little head."

Snape sounded so droll yet sincere that Hermione had trouble keeping a straight face.

"I can take the hint," she finally got out. "I just needed somewhere to be alone with my thoughts. That's not such a heinous crime, is it?"

"No, I suppose not," Snape answered softly. "Foolish, yes, but not a crime. I would be more concerned with the fact that you came up here wearing only that thin jumper."

Hermione looked down at her pullover. It was pale yellow with tiny multicoloured hearts, and looked more appropriate for a six-year-old rather than an eighteen-year-old. It was old but also happened to be one of her favourite jumpers, because its colour reminded her of happiness.

"Yes...it is a bit thin. I've had it for a while, but I don't feel cold," she mused.

Snape made some small noise that bespoke irritation. He shifted forward, then side to side to shuck out of his teaching robes.

"Daft girl," he muttered while hastily draping the still warm black robes around her body. "I've tired of seeing your face in the hospital wing. Now, what has you so distraught you saw fit to make your way across the castle and all the way up here? Did you and the bottom-feeders get into a little domestic?"

"I can think of a better question," said Hermione, thinking that she was cleverly avoiding Snape's question. "How did you know I was up here?"

Snape slowly turned his head to look at her. Most of his lank hair was concealing his face, but Hermione could see enough of his arched eyebrow to know that he was either surprised or annoyed by her boldness.

"I'll ask the questions, thank you."

"And you ask them so nicely," Hermione offered in a saccharine-sweet tone. "Have you ever felt something, where it felt like _too _much? To the point that it literally hurts, and it's so unbearable that part of you wants to turn it off?"

If Snape wore eyeglasses, he would have been scrutinising Hermione from over their top. He half-wondered what the girl was babbling about, but knew that Hermione wasn't the babbling sort. If something was weighing heavily on her mind and nearly rendering her off her rocker, then it had to be serious.

"Yes, well," she finished when Snape said nothing after her outpouring, "it's something like that. I can't talk to anyone else so I talk to myself. At least being up here on my own, no one judges me if they see me asking myself questions and answering them. And I am well aware that I sound completely mad, so you don't need to point it out."

"You aren't mad, Hermione," Snape quietly assured her. "You might sound it, but you most definitely are not. I've met enough headcases to know that you aren't one. Your judgment, however, is still questionable at best."

"I keep hearing you say that, but I don't know if I believe it," Hermione murmured. The fact that she was able to dispute anything that came from Snape's mouth was a testament to how far they had come. Of course, he still gave her hell, but she could now part her lips with the sole intent of breathing without fear of being slapped with detention. "You never did tell me how you knew where to find me. Did Crookshanks tip you off?"

"No," Snape answered. "Last I checked your cat was kipping comfortably in the middle of my bed. I tried to put him out but clearly it didn't work."

"And you decided against shoving him out?" Hermione laughed, fighting back her amusement when she saw Snape's angular jaw tighten. He had something against her pointing out each time he did something that could be construed as nice, and practically snarled whenever Hermione uttered such 'rubbish sentiment' as he dubbed it.

"I'm only joking," she soothed. "I know my cat; he's most likely anchored to your duvet by his nails. You could have tried to make him move and all you'd get a growl in return."

"I had noticed."

The two fell silent, only this time it was for the same reasons. Both parties wanted to reach over to the other, to hold hands or show some kind of affection. But Hermione remembered the last time she and Snape met on the Astronomy Tower; he hadn't wanted to stand too close to her for fear of being caught. Of course, he was now sitting next to her and each time shifted, his thigh brushed against hers.

Snape had purposely kept his hands in his lap, more out of the need to control himself from doing something foolish. Hermione's wonderfully messy hair was all over her head, and he was tempted to reach up and brush it out her eyes. That movement would cause her entire pretty face to become exposed, after which he would definitely want to kiss her. And if he kissed her, then he would be tempted to pull her into his lap, and not for any lascivious intentions, but to tangibly bask in her warmth.

He ended up reaching over to Hermione's side, but it was to pluck the book she'd been reading out of her lap.

Hermione felt her pulse hasten slightly when she saw Snape's thin, pale hand coming in her direction, and had been disappointed to find that he was only interested in her reading material. It was one of the books he'd left on her desk the day she and Luna were together in the library. Snape had made no mention of the books or of the note he'd left, and Hermione never brought it up. Now he was flipping through the pages, and everything she'd stuck between them fell out and onto his lap.

"I was doing a bit of research," she explained, feeling a bit foolish when Snape picked up the yellowed newsprint and peered intently at it.

She and Harry had gotten miffed at one another when she reasoned that the person behind his Potions textbook was female. Harry had been positive that the 'Half-Blood Prince' was a male, which incensed her. Even after Hermione found and showed him the old article about former the Hogwarts student, Eileen Prince, Harry remained unconvinced.

"I had no idea you were into the sport of Gobstones."

"I'm not," Hermione answered. "I was looking for something else and came across that article. I saved it because I thought it might be pertinent."

"I see," Snape replied evenly. Once he finished reading the article, he placed it back in Hermione's book. He also saw that she'd held onto his note, and felt a mild sense of pleasure. "Getting back to the original subject at hand, I think it would behoove you to take this..._feeling _that you speak of, and try to not give it too much thought. Sometimes when we're in the midst of things, we have experiences that we wouldn't under normal circumstances."

Hermione frowned, trying to niggle out the underlying message in Snape's words.

"Am I confusing you?" he asked patiently, glancing sideways and catching a glimpse of her face.

"A bit," Hermione confessed, tracing her fingertips along her book's bindings.

"Plainly stated: whatever it is you're feeling now...whatever it is that has you sneaking out of your dormitory and hiding atop a cold tower, it will most likely pass. You're only eighteen, and believe me, while things currently seem catastrophic, a year from now you will forget all about them."

"That is if I even make it to see next year," Hermione murmured. "I know you've been reading the _Prophet _and...people are being attacked left and right, and small children are being slaughtered as if they're nothing more than lambs."

"I understand, but don't let that chip away at your disgustingly Gryffindorish sense of optimism."

"I'll try, but sometimes it just feels like luck that we're still here. I will admit, I used to think that we really w_ere _that good, that we could handle anything thrown in our direction. But Harry was the one to actually point out that it was sheer luck for the most part. What happens when it runs out?"

Without thinking, Snape reached over and tugged on Hermione until she was seated between his bent knees. She clearly hadn't been expecting that and the entire shuffle over was rather awkward, but her tension was noticeably lessened soon as he put his arms around her.

"Do you really think that everyone is just going to leave you and your friends to fend for yourselves?" Snape said softly into Hermione's ear, ignoring the frizzy curls tickling his lips and nose.

"No...I don't know..."

Snape's arms tightened around her shoulders. Deep down he knew that he could not protect Hermione, nor her friends, from everything. They had to fall in order to learn how to pick themselves back up. Besides, it was difficult enough trying to keep his own affairs in order whilst running behind the three, and they had definitely kept him on his toes ever since their first year at Hogwarts. In many ways, Snape was limited because Dumbledore thought it best to keep him in the dark about certain things. That was understandable, but at the same time it sometimes made Snape's job that much harder.

"I need to stop this," said Hermione, sinking back into the welcoming expanse of Snape's chest. "I can't keep falling to pieces whenever reality smacks me in the face."

"The solution to that is simple," Snape replied, smoothing Hermione's hair to one side and waiting until she comfortably settled her head against his shoulder. "Fight when you have to, and you will have to fight again. Remember there is no such thing as a fair fight. Death Eaters will kill you without thinking twice, and if they sense hesitance, they'll torture you for sport. But if you must cry, keep it brief and make sure no one is around."

"Is that what you do?" Hermione asked, fumbling around for Snape's hand and sliding her fingers into his. "Cry when no one's around?"

"Never you mind about what I do. Just remember what I'm telling you."

Snape understood all too well what Hermione meant when she said that she was feeling too much, that sometimes she wanted to turn it off. Many nights he'd shed vicious tears that send tremors through his thin frame. When he was finally done, his eyes had been sore and bloodshot. Crying was supposed to be cathartic, yet it never made him feel any better. Thus he deemed crying or any emotional outbursts useless, and tried numbing himself to external influences.

Perhaps that was one reason he'd been so successful as a spy; nothing seemed to perturb him, not even the ghastly murders he had witnessed during the revels. Shutting down his every emotion also helped him cope with the deaths he felt responsible for. Eventually, anesthetising himself to everyone and everything became second nature, and Snape easily gained a reputation for being cold and uncaring.

Not that he minded much; it was easier for people to give him wide berth. He had mostly been ignored by the masses as a student, and upon gaining the Potions teaching position, the other professors tended to merely tolerate him. He had been younger than the other teachers, and perhaps they felt as though they had nothing in common, therefore they'd kept their distance. But even if they had attempted to speak to Snape, which he would have deemed to be out of sheer nosiness and not genuine concern, then he would have chewed them up and spit out the bones.

Snape knew why he felt the way he did; what he did not understand was the reason for Hermione wishing for the ability to detach herself from things. She was no murderer, and the biggest of her offences most likely had to do with her two pinhead mates, and even then they hadn't been up to anything that could be considered malicious.

He remembered how Hermione behaved whenever she began musing over her short life coming to an abrupt end. Yes, she was upset about that at the moment, but something told him that that wasn't what she had initially been talking about.

So what was it?

Snape would not get his answer that night, and perhaps not for some time. Hermione's thoughts had already been jumbled, but for a split second, she considered telling Snape how she truly felt about him. It wasn't until he suggested that her unshared feelings were nothing more than a passing fancy that she completely clammed up. Her little doorway of opportunity had been slammed shut, and Hermione vowed to never open it again. To do so meant that Snape would possibly come up with some logic about her so-called 'love' for him, while trying to talk her into thinking reasonably.

But there was no reasoning as far as she was concerned. Yes, most would agree that a young woman her age knew nothing of love, especially considering the circumstances of her unconventional relationship. But Hermione was confident enough to know her heart and her mind, and there was nothing anyone could say or do that would make her believe otherwise.

Perhaps Snape had a point when he told her that if she had to cry, to not let anyone see her. Was that why he'd always kept himself closed off from others? What hurt him so badly that he felt the need to maintain a stoic, desensitised demeanour all day, every day? She understood the whole spy thing and the need to keep calm under pressure, but the man had been on guard even when she had first taken him breakfast at Grimmauld Place. Hermione had been her normal self that morning, and all she'd received in return was a strong case of suspicion.

_Forget about my feelings? Right, as if that's going to happen. And where does he propose I start? Short of getting a Time-Turner...no, even that wouldn't work. But I don't __**want**__ to forget; I don't __**want **__to stop..._

"What happens if you can't turn your feelings off?" Hermione asked, tilting her head backwards to look up at Snape.

"Then you set yourself up for trouble."

"But what if I don't mind? What if I don't _want _to turn them off?" Hermione pressed, looking forward when the angle made her dizzy. "What if this...feeling, is the only thing I have, or a big part of what makes me happy? Why would I willingly give that up?"

Hermione didn't know how good she was at speaking in double entendres, but hoped like hell that Snape didn't pick up on the issue she was skirting around. She turned back to stare up into his face, watching as the underside of his jaw moved slightly when swallowed. His lips were pressed tightly together, and Snape said nothing as he reached his free hand into Hermione's lap to fix his teaching robes that had fallen from her shoulders.

"One cannot truly control their feelings," he finally responded once his robes had been securely tucked around her body, "but if you feel that strongly, perhaps it's best if you keep them in mind, so long as it does not impair your wits."

"I understand."

"You claim to understand now, but that's because you've not yet faced the worst of what's yet to come. It's easy to be agreeable when you aren't standing in the middle of the storm."

"You speak as if..." Hermione trailed off. "I'm not sure, to be honest. But it is making me a bit nervous."

"Which is a good thing," Snape continued. "That means you still have a grasp on reality. Make sure it remains."

"So the moral of this story is, it's alright to feel sentimental so long as I don't turn into some sappy idiot who can't see or think straight. Is that right?"

"Is that all you've gleaned from our conversation?"

"Right now, maybe. Although I'm sure something else will come to mind later on."

Hermione loosened her fingers from Snape's and slipped them up into his long sleeve, stroking the soft skin on the inside of his wrist. Wrapping her thumb and middle finger around the slender limb, she found that her fingertips touched. Hermione knew that weak was not a word she could use to describe Snape's physical strength. Yet sometimes when she saw him without his robes, did she remember just how frail he actually appeared. His spindly wrist was proof of that, but the wizard had a habit of using that same wrist to withdraw his wand so swiftly that the entire action was nothing more than a blur.

_Well, this is better than nothing, _Hermione thought of being cosily tucked in between Snape's legs. If she couldn't tell him that she loved him, at least she could sit with him for a while. She was surprised that he'd initiated their close contact and maintained it, considering that they weren't in the privacy of his bedroom. The urge to kiss him still hadn't gone away, but she kept her eyes focused straight ahead, trying to distract herself with the view of the night sky.

Hermione had just honed in on an odd shaped cloud when she felt Snape rest his forehead against the back of her head. His arms had been slung loosely around her waist, but now one tensed and pulled her closer, while the other reached up until his fingertips were beneath her chin. Holding her breath while waiting to see what Snape was going to do, Hermione inhaled softly when his long fingers slid up and curved over her cheek.

She didn't know if having her face caressed was supposed to feel that good, or merely if it was because she was in love.

His fingertips stroking her skin was the catalyst that eventually made Hermione twist round in Snape's lap, slipping both arms around his neck and tugging on him to kiss her. And kiss her he did: slowly, and thoroughly. His arms were securely around her, and Hermione was so into their exchange that she never noticed the way her back was arched over his forearm. For a brief moment, she realised they were most likely positioned the way lovers were drawn on the cover of those stupid romance novels she'd read. The fact that she was thinking about her mum's books at a time like this made her feel silly. But it felt incredible to have Severus holding her tightly to him, while his lips explored hers as well as every inch of her face.

Snape's teaching robes had fallen again as Hermione continuously tried to further mould herself to his body. She'd slipped one hand into his hair, lightly massaging his scalp as they kissed. His breath was warm against her neck, and it made her feel heated all over. She was becoming too lost, too enraptured in the moment, and knew that she was most likely going to say something that would change the mood, but his kisses were entirely too persuasive, not to mention the hand that crept up her jumper to caress the small of her back...

"Severus..." Hermione blurted without thinking, "I..."

But her words were cut off when he reached up to place his fingertips against her mouth.

"No," Snape calmly told her. "Remember what I told you about acting with your emotions rather than good judgement?"

Hermione didn't answer, but she continued staring up into Snape's intense black eyes.

"There are some things you cannot take back. You don't want to make the same mistakes I did."

That comment made her stymied; she didn't look at expressing herself freely as a mistake. Telling anyone you loved them was no mistake.

_Oh boy, my emotions __**are**__ leading me by the tip of my nose, _Hermione told herself. _Severus was right._

It was suspicious that he'd stopped her right before she was about to say the very thing that she swore she wouldn't. Hermione didn't think that he'd used Legilimency on her, but even if he had and managed to know what she was thinking, it was not the same as her saying it out loud.

Before she could give their strange situation any more thought, Snape was motioning for Hermione to stand up as he pushed to his feet. Without another word, he led Hermione down from the Astronomy Tower and through the castle. Once she was safely within the vicinity of Gryffindor Tower, he left Hermione to walk the rest of the way. She watched as he swept off in the opposite direction and sensed an uncomfortable tugging in her chest, as if he'd taken her heart with him.

* * *

**_good? bad? dum dum dummmm things are going to get thick from here on out..angst angst angst_**


End file.
